Riddles in the Dark: Tom and I
by MyPhoenixLament
Summary: COMPLETE Danielle Parmellie has been asked to tell the story of her past to Albus Dumbledore. A past which entwines her fate around that of Tom Riddle.
1. The Beginning

**Author's Notes:** I am somewhat... _testing_ this, if you will. I am curious of the reactions to this on this site. On HPFF, this story has thirty chapters, five hundred and twelve reviews, and over fifteen thousand reads.I don't expect half as much here. But it also helps, because I need to re-read what I've written thus far to help me write the new chapters. If this merits reviews, then I'll post the next chapter. If not... we wait. Although, the early chapters make me grimace.

**Disclaimer: **I own Danielle, little more.

**

* * *

**

Chapter One:  
The Beginning

"I was no one special. Not really. I walked from class to class each day with my head down, clutching my precious books to my chest: the only friends I had in that stone fortress they called a school. I was small—still am—and plain; nothing exciting about my limp blonde hair or dull gray eyes. I had given up on my appearance years before, realizing that it wasn't worth spending my time in vain attempting to make myself presentable—or, what the world saw as presentable.

"I attended the Augurey Academy of Spellcraft for my first year of schooling as a witch, when I was still young and unaware of my faults—or fate. But before my second year began, my mother and father swept me away to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seeing Augurey as an unfit place to learn.

"There, I was shunned by most, even in my own House: Ravenclaw. That was probably why I became such a bookworm, dedicated only to my studies and nothing else. I had never resented my lack of popularity among the students, knowing that at least the teachers appreciated my presence there.

"I felt no resentment, at least... until my fourth year, when _he_ suddenly appeared in my life."

Albus interrupts my story by placing a sympathetic, gnarled hand on my shoulder. "You must know, Ms. Riddle, how grateful we are for you to speak with us today."

I nod eager to finally reveal the secrets I have kept hidden for so many years.

"And I must assure you that you needn't continue if you don't feel it appropriate, though it will be most helpful for the Order if you do." He looks at me intently, his eyes grown weary with time behind his half moon glasses.

"I know, Albus, but Tom is not the man he used to be," I say, sighing, and launch into my tale.

"Riddle, Parmellie, if I may have a word after class?" Professor Dumbledore caught my attention as I was about to walk out of the door. I sighed, shifting the heavy stack of books I have almost spilling from my arms.

"Yes Professor?" I inquired quietly, the boy he had called standing beside me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, blushing and looking down at my feet as I noticed how good-looking he was.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes shining. "I would like to congratulate the both of you for receiving top marks on the first exam of the year, well done, you two."

The boy—Riddle—nodded. "Thank you, sir."

I mumbled a quiet thanks, still concentrating on the floor. Dumbledore looked at us knowingly, his gaze lingering on Riddle the longest ere he sent us off to our next class. This congratulatory meeting puzzled me, though I had begun to get used to them by then. But Riddle seemed perplexed somehow. I know that he was not one of Dumbledore's favored students; in fact, he seemed to hold some sort of dislike or mistrust toward him. At the time, I couldn't understand why. Riddle was brilliant in every class he took, as well as popular with almost the entire student and teacher population at Hogwarts.

I hugged the books closer, remembering that I still had Herbology to sit through before the end of the day. I hastened my steps, not wanting to be late.

Suddenly I heard, "You're Danielle, are you not?"

Startled, I dropped my books, scattering them in the hallway. I expected Riddle to taunt me about it, as anyone else would have, but instead he bent down to the floor, helping me gather them back up.

"Sorry," he apologized, placing the last one in my hands. I thanked him awkwardly, numbed by his kindness.

"It was nothing," he replied, as if it was the normal thing to do. But it had never occurred to me before that perhaps it was.

He extended his hand, and I set down my books to shake it. "I am Tom... Tom Riddle."

I smiled sadly. "Yes. I know your name. And you know mine already." I inwardly groaned at how stupid I must have sounded talking to him. I didn't know how to act around people my age, much less the male ones.

He laughed, amused, which also came as a surprise. He wasn't laughing _at_ me, nor was he laughing _with_ me. It felt, in a way, refreshing to hear his warm chuckles as a bit of color rose to my cheeks.

"I will see you around, sometime, Danielle," he called as he walked down the corridor in the opposite direction as me. Still blushing, I scuttled off to the greenhouse.

Tom was right. I saw him many times over the following few weeks; accidentally bumping into him in the halls or confronting him during classes. He always had a smile ready for me whenever we would happen across each other.

Each time I saw him, my heart would flutter mercilessly against my ribcage and I would feel faint, my head swimming in emotion. For I had grown fond of Tom Riddle, though I hid my feelings well.

"Danielle," he muttered, frowning over a piece of parchment. "Have you found why you can only harvest a wereroot at night?"

We were in the library, trying to finish the essay that had been assigned in Potions. The dusty, aged smell of the books helped me to concentrate.

"Mmhm. It's on page three hundred and thirty-two," I told him absently, not even prying my eyes from the page I was reading. From the way he silently flipped through the book, I could tell that he wasn't expecting me to divulge the answer willingly just yet. That was the way things were between us. He understood me and I understood him. Or, at least, I thought I did.

"Thank you." Satisfied, he dipped the end of his quill in the inkwell and began to write upon the parchment. I loved the way he wrote things. Each letter had such a graceful, spidery curve to it, especially when he spelled out my name.

"I wish you would teach me to write like that," I complained wistfully, glancing at his essay, which was already half a foot longer than mine.

If he was surprised by my hidden compliment, he didn't show it. "I suppose I could teach you... if you really want to learn."

"Would you really?" I exclaimed, excitedly setting my book down on the table.

He laughed. "Of course. Only, not now. I want to finish this first. I have still got nine inches more to do, and _you_ need even more than that!"

I sighed. "Oh, alright."

Tom grinned. "Tomorrow is Saturday. We will have as long as we need."

I nodded happily. Saturday could not have come fast enough.


	2. Cold

**Author'sGratitude:** Thank you _Littlemissy999_ and _Siobhan-Slytherin-Lady _for the reviews. I am glad that you liked the first chapter. (And to the former, I will try to review your story as you asked.)

**Author's Notes: **This is really a trip down memory lane for me, these earlier chapters. And in said chapters, I think, Tom might seem a bit OOC, (and to me, so might Danielle, as she will change later). This is done purposefully, because I am going to "chronicle his descent into megalomania." (As said by TomFoolery, my very first reviewer on HPFF.) I'd like to think that even Lord Voldemort, once upon a time, and in the right circumstances, could feela bit more than contempt. The first few chapters are also very short, but chapter thirty, the longest chapter, is four thousand words, so don't fret.

Also, once I get this site updated with chapter thirty, the updates will take much longer, as I have not written past that point.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Two:  
Cold

I awoke the next morning to the pattering of rain upon the glass dormitory windows, a booming roll of thunder occasionally shaking them. I shivered and pulled the blankets up around my nose at the thought of my bare toes touching the stone floor. The air was damp and cool.

Then, I remembered that Tom would be waiting for me in the library. Suddenly warmer, I disentangled myself from the sheets and leapt out of bed, ignoring the cold sting at my feet. The other girls in my dormitory were still sleeping peacefully, and I realized, after glancing at the brass clock near the windowsill, that it was only five-thirty. Tom had not told me a specific time, or even a place to meet him, and I did not know if the library would be open this early.

But I decided to chance it.

Pulling on my cleanest robe and quickly running a comb through my hair, I hurried down to the common room. I stopped before one of the fires, glad that it was lit as the warmth from the flames touched my skin.

On my way out, I made sure to take my cloak, knowing that the fires in the library would take twice as long to warm the vast room as this one.

It seemed that no one was awake at such an early hour save for myself and the ghosts. And even them, I rarely saw. The portraits still dozed against their frames, and I was careful not to disturb them as I walked down the corridors, keeping the bulk of my cloak wrapped tightly around myself, a hood shadowing my face.

I was halfway there when I realized that I had forgotten my shoes.

_Danielle, you are so daft!_ I scolded myself. My toes were beginning to feel numb, and I rubbed them against my hand in an attempt to bring the feeling back.

I had never had a history of forgetfulness, so my lack of shoes bewildered me. Had I been so distracted by the thought of seeing Tom that I had not remembered to cover my already chilled feet? I felt even more idiotic when that idea came to mind, and I did not know what was coming over me at all.

Now, I was so cold I could barely stand, and, whimpering, I stumbled almost headlong into another window.

_Wonderful,_ I thought sarcastically, sinking to the floor and rubbing my throbbing head. The downpour outside had intensified, and I stared at it, seemingly searching for answers.

I could hear footsteps approaching, so I tore my gaze from the weather and back inside the dingy castle. To my surprise, it was Tom.

"Danielle? What are you doing here?" he asked, and concern momentarily flickered in his eyes before he added, "And where are your shoes?"

I knew I must have looked a sight, sitting there in my bare feet, cloaked and hooded in a heap on the floor, so I began to laugh.

"I was coming to the library," I told him, giggling, and he looked at me with a bemused expression as he knelt down in front of me.

"Here, hand me your foot," he said, and I did.

He breathed into his hand then massaged my foot with it. I had never witnessed magic of that kind before, but I knew, as the warmth seeped back into my toes, that it _was_ magic. He gently took my other foot and did the same to it.

Watching Tom work, even if it was the most simple of tasks, was fascinating. There was always an air of stubborn pride and concentration about him, and I understood why the teachers praised him so.

I looked at him in awe, and he stopped for a moment, meeting my gaze and raising his eyebrows questioningly. "What is it?"

I blushed. "How did you do that?"

"I do not know," he admitted, furrowing his brow. Tom seemed special that way, in that he could accomplish things that no one else could. His entire being was so intriguing to me, and I longed to know more about him. "Is that better?" he asked.

I wiggled my toe to test it, smiling again. "Very much, thank you!"

He smiled. "Can you stand, then?"

I grasped his hand in support, but nearly toppled over as my legs gave way. Cursing my luck, I shook my head and mumbled, "No."

He smirked. "I will just have to carry you, then!"

I felt myself being lifted from the ground by the arms of an amazingly strong fourteen year old—though, it wasn't much of a feat considering how small I was.

"Ah! Tom!" I shrieked happily, kicking my feet about playfully. I could feel his heart beating against my arm.

Grinning, I tilted my head back and leaned against him, my hair swaying loosely as he walked.

When we reached the library, he set me down on a chair in a secluded area of the room, ignoring the quizzically annoyed look he received from the librarian.

"I brought a roll of parchment for you to practice on," he said, and it took me a moment to realize what he was talking about.

_I have already forgotten what we came here for,_ I thought sadly at my current case of forgetfulness.

For the next few hours, Tom meticulously showed me how he wrote each of his letters while I tried to copy them. Mine were nowhere near as perfect as his, and I laughed at my pitiful attempts at making them. I was surprised that he did not give up entirely, or that he had any patience left in him.

I bit my lip as I tried to copy the "d" that he had just shown me, wanting to capture its gracefully arching back and curving detail at the tip. It wasn't coming out at all alike to his example, and I set down my quill in frustration.

"Do not give up yet," he protested, picking up the quill and placing it in my fingers. He brought his arm around my shoulder, taking the upper part of the quill in his own hand, guiding my lines and helping me write.

My heart rate quickened and I felt flushed for a moment.

But when I looked down at the parchment, much to my astonishment, the "d" we had delicately etched into it together was the most perfect of them all.


	3. The Library

**Author's Notes: **Thank you Talamasca for the review. I do hope you won't be disappointed.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Three:  
The Library

"Tom taught you to write calligraphy?" Albus cuts in once more.

"Yes sir," I tell him, annoyed at the interruption. The least he can do is to let me tell it straight through after convincing me to divulge anything at all.

He folds his hands in his lap, though his long, silver beard covers most of them. "Please, Ms. Riddle, continue."

Even after Tom had politely excused himself hours ago, I stayed in the library, surrounded by my dusty, steadfast companions. I used to imagine that they spoke to me, though in a way they did, but kept repeating themselves each time.

I itched my nose with the dry end of my quill, pontificating what I was to write next in my essay, which still came a half inch short. It did not help that my handwriting was rather small and messy, not at all loose and free flowing like Tom's.

Tom.

I found myself comparing the things I and others accomplished to how he would have done them, and it always ended with his way being far more superior. I struggled not to let my mind wander in his direction, but I might have had more luck at trying to suddenly wake up one morning and discover that I that I had been transformed into a doxie. It was utterly impossible.

And once again, as I sat comfortably in the library, a thick book at hand, I was attempting to push his image out of mind. I could not help but not forget the way his arm had come around mine to aid me in the drawing of the letter. The thought of his touch had sent pleasant shivers up my spine.

But finally, my mind was left in peace—or could it have been pieces? I did not know which.

Opening the book I had resting on my lap—having decided to take a respite from writing—and carefully turning the crinkling pages, I found where I had previously stopped reading, immediately reabsorbed in the world it created for me.

It was well past nine that night when I finished, the library deserted. No one had noticed me reading in the dark corner, it seemed, or they had just left me alone out of cruelty. But that meant the library was closed, and so, judging by the absence of any human being—witch, wizard, or squib alike—the door was locked.

I clenched my teeth angrily, once again cursing my ill-fated luck.

I trudged to the door just to turn the knob and prove that I had at least tried, and, as I expected, it rattled loudly in one place. When I searched frantically in the pockets of my robes, I also discovered that I had left my wand in the dormitory. I still could not understand how I had forgotten the fundamental necessities of survival: first my shoes, and then my wand. I knew I would have to wait for the House Elves to come to light the fires in the morning, and then I could make my escape.

While contemplating my dilemma, I noticed a thin, spidery crack at the front of one of the more ancient bookshelves. It was barely visible to me, and so had probably gone unnoticed for years. But it sparked my curiosity for some reason, and so I knelt beside it and scratched at the line with my fingernail.

Suddenly, I felt the ground shake beneath me, and I gasped as the crack widened to reveal a slim hole just large enough for me to slip my hand into. I closed my fingers around the first objects I touched, wincing as I felt something scuttle across my skin.

There was dampness from the hole that brought a musty smell into the room, which was hard to ignore.

When I withdrew my hand, I discovered that I held two things: one was a small book, perhaps a diary, its blank pages stained and ruined by water. The other took me a moment of pondering to identify.

It was an ancient wand, badly preserved by time. And the most peculiar thing it was, too! The wood—redwood, no doubt—had begun to rot, revealing an equally odd core, which looked to be a combination of a dragon heartstring, phoenix feather, a hair carefully plucked from the tail of a unicorn, and another thing I did not recognize.

The last, I later discovered, was another hair, only it had belonged to the wand's former owner, who had long since passed on.

As I carefully turned the second discovery in my hand, observing it intently, I realized there was a name burned into the bottom, though it was barely legible after sitting in such a dark, dank place for so long.

The initials I could easily make out: S.S., but the letters following them were more difficult. The similarity between what they must have once been, and how Tom wrote was uncanny.

When I squinted a bit, I found that the first name—or word—had seven letters, while the second had either nine or ten, I could not yet tell. The wood felt soft when I pressed against it, which was not at all on my side as I attempted to decipher the name.

It was frustrating work, but I had until morning, and I was determined to unlock the wand's secrets. It did, however, seem to pulse a strange, ominous aura that I was incredibly wary of the entire time I spent staring at it.

Each minute slowly dragged by as the clock hung somewhere in the library ticked mercilessly, deafening in the deserted silence that pressed against me. It was so unbearable that once, I had to gently set the wand down and grab a book at random from the shelf, which soon proved interesting, though for better or for worse I could not say.

Truly, I had not expected the surprise that was in store for me.

I quickly grew bored with the book and brought myself the flip through it, absently at most. It was in those absent moments that I would unintentionally manage to do something stupid, making my lack of attention visibly known to myself.

My finger stung icily as I sliced it on a particularly cutting edge of one page, a drop of crimson blood appearing at the cut. I yelped at the sight of it as I was rather squeamish around that sort of thing, so it was with helplessness that I watched it fall, twisting as it went, and splashing onto the surface of the wand.

I cried out in dismay, sure that I had ruined my precious artifact, which I saw that the blood had instantaneously been absorbed into the wood, revealing the missing letters.

_Salazar Slytherin._

I, Danielle Parmellie, was holding Salazar Slytherin's wand in my own hands.


	4. The Diary

**Chapter Four:  
The Diary**

Tom found me in the morning, curled up cat-like on the floor where I had fallen asleep, wand and book clutched to my chest.

"Danielle?" he called softly, shaking my shoulder, when his entire being seemed to change. He had spotted the wand.

"Where did you get that?" His voice was strained. I blinked at him in exhaustion, shifting to a more comfortable position. I noticed an odd glimmer in his eyes as his hands seemed to itch with the need to grasp the rotting wood. His disposition frightened me, and though I unconsciously tried to hide my discoveries from him, I felt my arms move out of their own accord and hold the wand out to him.

"I-It is Salazar Slytherin's wand," I told him, and his fingers brushed against mine as he took it, gazing at the engraved name hungrily.

"Tom?" I questioned nervously, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He jumped at my touch. I was relieved to see his eyes return to normal, and he grinned apologetically. "Where did you find it?" His tone was the softer one of the Tom I knew.

I pointed to the small opening on the bookshelf. "There."

Tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes, he regarded the hole with a curious eye, deeply immersed in thought. "Brilliant," he murmured to himself, and I joined him by the shelf, my joints stiff from sleeping upon the floor.

"What is brilliant?"

He shook his head. "Was there anything else with it?"

I chewed at my lip as I withdrew the little black book. He seemed to be expecting it, though why, I did not know.

"Ah, yes..." He gently turned each crinkling page, searching.

He looked dissatisfied once he reached the end, apparently finding nothing, and prepared to cast it aside.

But before he could release it, I grasped his thin wrist gently, my heart beating unnaturally fast. "I am sorry," I blushed. "Let me keep it."

He opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. "Fair enough."

I tucked it away into the pocket of my robes, an idea forming in my mind.

I smiled, eager to begin my project.

Over the course of the next week, I worked feverishly at every spare moment I had. Tom never asked about it, and so I never told him anything. Christmas drew closer with each passing day as a white blanket of snow engulfed the castle.

I did not see him much during that time. He was always holed up somewhere, hiding away from the bustle of Hogwarts. I never really knew where he went when he disappeared, though I supposed he was in the Slytherin common room. Once, I was even curious enough to ask about him.

"E-excuse me?" I called cautiously to a girl I recognized was in Slytherin. Her hair was long and jet black, cut short in the front to form perfectly straight bangs.

She turned to me with penetrating brown eyes that narrowed when she saw who I was. For a moment, I thought she would not even speak to me.

Mockingly, she asked, "What is it, filthy Ravenclaw?" Her voice was soft and cruel, which was the Slytherin way.

I tried to keep my lip from quivering. "H-has Tom Riddle been in the common room–er, is he there now, perhaps? I mean... er..." I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes at my stupidity.

"And why, _pray tell_, would I tell you that?" she asked, though she looked at me curiously as she put her back to me, turning to leave.

Then she stopped. "But no. He hasn't. Strange someone like _you_ would ask."

After that, she seemed to forget I was there, or else had decided to ignore me.

I thanked her and stumbled away feeling foolish. I was worried about the safety of my friend.

We _were_ friends, right?

That was a new concept. The only friends I had ever had had been inanimate objects, and I was constantly plagued with that fact. I did not want to lose the only person my age that had ever been kind to me.

I had always dreamt that a friend was someone with whom I could share my deepest secrets, or at least we would know each other very well.

I realized that I still knew so little about Tom. He had not spoken much, and so I barely knew him, and yet... I felt I knew everything about him. It was an odd, frustrating and satisfying feeling, one I was willing to admit.

But was I willing to admit the other feelings I had tried to bury and cast out from my heart? I was not ready to accept them for fear that they would never be returned.

And as these feelings started to grow and develop further, it began to get harder to look Tom Riddle in the eye at times.

On Christmas Eve, I carefully wrapped my project in a sheet of delicate white paper that rumpled the longer I touched it. I attached a small card with a velvety green ribbon, making sure that I had formed each letter perfectly of the calligraphy I had used. I was sure that he would be proud of at least that, as I was determined to prove I had learned something from our lesson. I also kept a quill and ink bottle easily accessible, in case he did not have one with him when I gave him the present the next morning.

Or perhaps I would give it to him that night.

I contemplated for a moment before deciding it would be best to catch him ere he retired to his common room for the night.

I clutched the parcel to my chest and raced to the dungeons, ignoring the stares I was receiving from my peers. I had to find him, I had to find–

"Tom!" I cried breathlessly as I spotted him in a corner, conversing with another Slytherin, who sneered at me nastily.

I heard Tom excuse himself and I rushed to meet him.

But when he was finally in front of me, my mind fogged and swam and I blushed, swaying and staring down at my feet.

"Danielle?" he asked patiently.

It took me a moment to recover, but I eventually did, and I held out the parcel to him, murmuring, "Happy Christmas."

He took it, smiling quizzically as he slowly unwrapped it, pulling out the little black diary. "But this is-?" He furrowed his brow and opened to the first page, staring at it intently.

Then he grinned. "Ah... but you have done something clever to it, have you not?"

I smiled, my lips curling secretively. "But of course."


	5. The Visit

**Chapter Five:  
The Visit**

"_You_ are the one responsible for that diary?" Albus asks.

"Yes, why? Do you know of it?" I reply curiously.

"It nearly caused history to repeat itself once–it was destroyed, of course. You and Riddle were the cleverest students Hogwarts has ever seen, even in your fourth year, so this surprises me not. But what of the wand?" he queries quietly, as if expecting someone to be listening behind the closed door.

"Tom kept it. Now that I think of it, he must have used it to gain power. After all, he _is_ the heir of Slytherin," I say almost boastfully, seeming to forget the anguish he has caused.

"Indeed... now... please, continue."

"You won't mind if I skip ahead a bit?"

"Whatever is necessary."

-

The school year was drawing to an end while summer was already upon us. The only thoughts that seemed to be on anyone's minds were those of freedom and an escape from endless work. Eyes wandered and drifted off to gaze out of the thick glass windows instead of concentrating on the blackboard or the notes they were supposed to be writing.

Exams had come and gone with Tom and I receiving top marks as usual, much to the dismay of those of our classmates who did not happen to be so lucky. Not everyone failed, mind you, there were a few scores to compare with ours. I never boasted about it, as I saw no need to draw such attention to myself, but that seemed unavoidable. Rumors could spread like a plague, whether good or bad, as well as reputations.

I could not walk the halls without being acknowledged by at least two people, both of whom would, as I passed, whisper about Tom and I.. Not that there was much truth to them at times. But at least the whisperings were positive ones that left the school wondering.

I could not understand my unknown significance to them. For to me, I was still the same plain, shy, unnoticeable bookworm that I had always been.

But to Tom...

I still did not know how he saw me. Granted, I was a friend; one of many, in fact. Though, we were almost closer than friends in an unromantic sort of way, yet not like siblings, really. I could not describe it.

I tried not to think about our relationship too often, always fearing what the truth of it might hold.

-

It was with reluctance that I embraced Tom on Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross Station. Reluctance that we had to part, that is.

"Will I see you this summer?" I asked hopefully, pulling away.

He frowned. "Most likely not."

My face fell, but brightened soon after. "We can still write letters, though?"

He smiled. "Of course. Your owl should be able to find me, wherever I may be."

I poked my fingers through the thin bars of my barn owl, Rowan's, cage, and he nipped them testily. I knew he hated being locked up, preferring to have the option of spreading his wings out full.

"And, I will be able to practice my calligraphy," I offered optimistically.

Tom grimaced sadly as I climbed into the backseat of my parents' car, shutting the door behind me. I twisted myself so I could see out of the back window, waving until he was but a small speck in the distance. _I will miss you, Tom_, I thought quietly to myself, knowing that indeed, I would.

-

I sat with my knees bent to my chest in the bay window that overlooked my mother's garden. Blended with the sounds of the surrounding muggle neighborhoods were those of the chirping crickets and the tiny, resonating snores of our cabbages. Though the night was young, the summer air was cool, a warm breeze gently playing at the white sheer curtains that I had previously drawn back to let in the mood of the night.

My hair was loosely twisted into two braids, lazy strands poking out where I had not cared to fix them. One tickled my face was I stared pensively out at the trees swaying rhythmically, a few fireflies flickering their tiny pricks of light in and out of the leaves. Overall, it was a tranquil panorama; a soothing respite from life.

I played at a corner of the parchment I had laying in my lap, chewing at the end of my sugar quill and wondering what to write to Tom about. It was already nearing mid-July, but I had only just received my very first letter from him. I had been overjoyed when Rowan had gracefully swooped through my window and dropped a thin envelope into my lap.

I had opened it with trembling fingers, breaking the blood-red wax seal pressed with the Slytherin crest, withdrawing the hastily folded parchment. But to my disappointment, the letter itself had contained but three words scrawled in elegant, curling, green calligraphy.

**_I am coming._**

He was coming? When?

I knew I needed to reply quickly, but I didn't know the words to use. I was aware of what I wanted to ask, along with an infinite number of questions to follow. But I did not know how to put them.

And that was why, as I sat comfortably, pontificating deeply, I heard the rapping of spontaneous pebbles upon the glass.

With a start, I peered into the dim twilight to discover a disheveled Tom, wand and broom in hand, staring up at me hopefully from the lengthy shadows created by the trees.

"Tom?" I called questioningly, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. He must have flown, judging by the weather-beaten _Tinderblast_ he was clutching, and he looked to be shivering. I did not even know he owned a broom, or much less that he could fly. This new, helpless Tom was almost frightening as I saw how lost and unguarded he seemed to be.

Holding back a cry, I pried myself from the window, stumbling out of my room and down the stairs. I hardly felt my bare feet touch the carpet as I skidded to a halt in front of the door, effortlessly flinging it open.

Smuggling Tom into my home was easier than one would expect, seeing as my father was away on business and my mother was visiting with an old friend five blocks away. I was still cautious, however, wincing whenever one of us happened to step upon a creaking loose floorboard.

I restrained from asking any questions until I was sure that he had been properly situated on a makeshift bed in my room–he had refused my own. But once he was settled, and with a steaming mug of hot chocolate at the ready, I bombarded him with everything I could think of.

"What are you doing here? What happened to you? Did you fly here? Are you alright? Where were you staying? Why did you leave? Did they send you away? Why did you come _here_? Do your parents know? Are you _staying_ here? –Not that I mind– Are you comfortable on the floor? Are you sure you do not want my bed instead? Are you hungry? Do you need anything else? Do you-"

He placed his index finger gently upon my lips, stopping me in mid-sentence and sending a pleasant shiver up my spine. "I am fine. Truly."

I tried no to let my disappointment show. I knew he would answer all of my questions in time, however impatient I was. I also knew not to ask them of him again. He looked so exhausted and worn with his eyelids drooping what he wasn't blinking them rapidly in order to stay awake. It was not even comical in the least bit, his mental and physical struggles at the moment.

Tom Riddle was desperate. Yet why?

He told me nothing more ere I watched his heavy eyelids flutter shut into the peaceful sleep I knew he required, my cheeks still pink as I extinguished the few candles that remained lit.

Finally, I resumed my perch in the bay window, keeping a watchful eye on my friend through the night, unable to join him in slumber.


	6. Of Mutterings and Lockets

**Chapter Six:  
Of Mutterings and Lockets**

My mother did not return that night, much to my short-lived relief.

-

That morning, too early for the neighbors to begin to stir in their beds, Tom mumbled loquatiously in his sleep, tossing and turning on his makeshift pallet.

"Orphanage... Voldemort... flee... revenge.." he once said incoherently.

I had been fingering the silver locket he had given me last Christmas morning, looking at it with contentment. He had told me not to open it until he said to, which had seemed rather uppity at the time. But I knew he had his reasons, even if he kept them to himself.

It was quite mysterious, the locket, unlike any other. The silver was tarnished, hinting of age, its tiny-linked chain equally as so. Its shape was the peculiar part, however. It seemed to be an elongated diamond with its corners rounded as if it were made to hold something in particular. The silver was also studded with jagged fragments of peridot in the center. I longed to know what it contained, but I managed to restrain myself from undoing the clasp and peering inside.

Tom fidgeted often, tangling the blankets around himself in a cold sweat. I brought a damp cloth to his forehead and patted it lightly on his skin. After that, he seemed to calm, though I remained at his side, my own eyelids growing heavier with each passing hour.

I did not even realize I had fallen asleep.

-

When I awoke, I found myself back in my own bed, tucked in carefully. An instantaneous wave of guilt washed over my body because I had failed my duty as "caretaker."

"Ah, you are awake," I heard someone comment casually.

It was Tom, of course.

He was different in a way that I couldn't quite put my finger on, though he had changed drastically over the past month or so. He was more secretive than before, which made it harder for me to learn about his past. There was little warmth behind his eyes, only sometimes...

...When he looked at me...

Still, he was immensely troubled by something, coming to me in such a state that he was.

I jolted myself back into reality to answer him. "Wha-? Oh, yes. Did you sleep well?"

He nodded grimly.

Hesitantly, I said, "I heard you talking in your sleep, Tom, is something wrong?"

I watched his body go rigid. "What did you hear?" he asked in a quiet, demanding tone.

"Oh, I do not quite remember, your words were rather slurred," I quickly lied, not meeting his gaze. But there was no lying to Tom, I knew, and he would have me ferreted out in a moment.

"Danielle," he said sternly, crossing his arms. "What precisely did you hear?"

I chewed nervously at a loose strand of hair that had fallen across my face. "Something about, er, an orphanage... and a strange word that started with a 'V', I think... Tom, where were you staying before you came here?"

For a moment, I thought I saw a fleeting flicker of anger pass across his pensive features.

"Ah..." he began slowly, clicking his tongue.

"Please tell me," I pleaded.

He was reluctant to answer. He seemed to be weighing his options. "I cannot tell you."

I let out an exasperated, disappointed sigh.

He mumbled something quietly under his breath. Then, clearing his throat, he repeated what he had said. "It is difficult to explain, Danielle, I do not know if even _I_ can, you must understand that. Things have happened... and _will_ happen... _Terrible_ things..."

"What are you trying to say?" I did not understand what he was telling me. It seemed entirely irrelevant to what I had asked.

But he decided to remain elusive.

Tom stared blankly out of the window, lost in thought.

"It is alright," I sighed again, "You do not have to tell me."

"Be cautious this term, Danielle," he murmured in a strange voice.

I decided not to push my luck by questioning him about it any further, and I switched topics. "Are you hungry?"

He looked at me with an amused expression, chuckling. "A bit."

-

I did not know what I would tell my mother when she came home, and I did not even know when that would be. I was not worried yet, however, for she had done that before.

Tom had asked to stay until the start of the term since he couldn't go back to his former home. I had promptly told him, "Perhaps."

-

It was with horror that I had discovered my mother was never coming back. Tom had been there to comfort me–awkwardly–as I cried. We would have had my home to ourselves long after September first had we chosen to stay there and not return to school. For my father's whereabouts remained a mystery.

I eventually arranged an actual bed for Tom after destroying the pitiful pile of blankets I had formerly forced him to use.

Before she disappeared, my mother had been rather fond of various muggle inventions, so Tom and I amused ourselves each night by watching ridiculous programs on our television set. He had not found this non-wizarding device strange, which I, in turn, thought was odd, seeing as I had not expected him to have any connections with the outside world. In fact, he was quite at ease with it, as well as the other scattered muggle things about my house.

Our letters from Hogwarts arrived shortly after Tom did, listing the books and supplies we would need for our fifth year.

That proposed another problem. With my parents gone, we would not be able to travel to Diagon Alley; the last of our Floo Powder had been finished off while I was away at school.

I presented our dilemma to Tom, but he only smiled, or rather, one corner of his lip curled slightly. He reassured me that he had already thought of something. I also could have sworn I had heard him mutter, however softly, "I hope you are not frightened of heights," under his breath as I brushed past him to retrieve something from my chamber.


	7. Letters Bring Death

**Chapter Seven:  
Letters Bring Death**

On the night of the thirtieth of August, I found myself straddled upon the back of Tom's _Tinderblast_ with my eyes clenched shut in fear, my arms clasped tightly around his middle. I could not bring myself to look down at the sleeping muggle town, for I knew it was unnaturally far below us.

We flew through a cloud, and I could feel his muscles tense after I tightened my grip on his waist, burying my face in the back of his shoulder.

He laughed and shifted uncomfortably. "We are not so high, not yet!"

I moaned. "Are we remotely _close_ to Diagon Alley yet?"

"Open your eyes, why do you not, and see for yourself!" he joked while trying to loosen my hold.

I shook my head violently. "Not until I feel my feet touch the ground, thank you very much!"

"I am not going to let you fall," he retorted, steadying the broom as best he could to prove it.

"I know that, I just do not like flying, is all... or heights..." I swallowed and re-buried my face.

"I am not about to let you down until you open your eyes."

"Wha-? That's not-but! Tom!" I protested at the unfairness. He turned his head and looked at me, smirking as I nervously squinted open one eye.

Then I gasped.

"Tom! It is beautiful!"

Stretched before me was an endless sea of stars, each tiny point of light glimmering in the distance. The sky was composed of a multitude of blue hues, aquamarine curling around midnight-navy in mist-like tendrils that seeped to the outermost regions of the night. Clouds were but delicate, ethereal wisps of light gray.

I glanced below me, and my breath caught in my throat. The town was but a collection of shimmering specks kilometers below us, arranged in an endless grid-like pattern. I could barely see the red and white lights of muggle traffic. In fact, the only way I recognized it was for the movement.

The leather straps of my trunk flapped noiselessly behind us, Rowan's empty cage dangling from one end.

As my fears seemed to lessen, I let my hair dance loosely in the wind, freeing my hands and boldly lifting them to the luminescent orb of a moon. There, I laughed openly, my voice becoming lost in the rushing air.

"I thought you detested flying!" Tom called, his smirk still apparent.

"What are you _talking_ about?" I teased.

He jerked the broom playfully, and caused me to nearly lose my balance. I shrieked happily, flailing my arms about to keep from falling. "Ah! Do not!"

"I thought you were not afraid!" His smile broadened to an evil grin and he tilted the handle of the broom, falling into an impossibly steep dive.

I had honestly never realized he could fly so incredibly well. It was pure brilliance, the way he handled the _Tinderblast_. It was as if he had invented the model himself.

Tom did not strike me as the athletic type, for he had never shown any signs of his ability before. I doubted anyone else knew of it. (Though, clearly, tonight, he was showing off.)

I readily admit to enjoying every moment of it, despite my former fears, as there was nothing quite like what I was experiencing. It was one of those feeling where it made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

But it was one of the last nights we would be able to act as so until the true horrors began.

-

We successfully boarded the Hogwarts Express with only moments to spare. Rowan had returned the night before with a dead mouse dangling by its scrawny tail in his beak, a large envelope clutched in his fierce talons.

_Dear Miss Parmellie,_ it had read,

_It is with regret and a heavy heart that we must inform you of the deaths of your mother, Elizabeth Nell-Parmellie, and your father, Alexander Parmellie, both passing last Sunday evening. Headmaster Armando Dippet will speak with you personally upon your arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are deeply sorry for your loss. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Belinda Warrick  
**Ministry of Magic**_

I stared at it numbly, not willing to believe what my eyes had told me. It had not made sense. My parents were much too young, or so I had believed.

Professor Dippet confirmed my suspicions after I was ushered into his office and seated nervously in front of him.

"I'm terribly sorry," he began, wringing his hands, his eyes filled with pity; something I hated to see. "We do not know the exact cause of your parents' deaths, I'm afraid, but we _do_ know that they were indeed murdered." He gazed at me sorrowfully. It made me feel ashamed of myself, having not even begun to mourn for my loss. But perhaps fifteen was too young of an age to really process the fact that the ones who had birthed and raised me would never return; would never kiss my cheek each summer night, promising me sweet dreams of bliss so long as my eyes were closed; no one would be there to welcome me home upon my return from Hogwarts and arrival at Platform 9 3/4, drowning me in their warm embrace.

Or perhaps I still suffered from the initial shock that I was then an orphan...

_An orphan..._

Those words stung bitterly on my tongue as I emerged from the Headmaster's office. Tom was there, perched near a crumbling statue, waiting for me. He insisted on accompanying me to the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room after that, for we had missed the feast–no great sorrow, hunger was nothing–and the students would be returning from their dormitories with their bellies full. And, I had not been informed of the new password, he sat with me, though in silence.

After what seemed like hours–though it couldn't have been so long as that–he spoke. "You know," he said thoughtfully, his voice slightly gravelly from not being used, "both... both of my parents... are no longer alive..."

I blinked in surprise. "Oh, Tom, I am so sorry!"

He shook his head. "I hardly remember them, least of all my late mother. She was the witch, but my father... That is beside the point. So, I... I realize how you must be feeling..."

I managed a smile. He was trying so hard to lift my spirits... spirits that refused to be lifted. "Thank you," I murmured, giving a tired sigh and leaning my forehead against his shoulder.

Once more, I found myself drifting away in slumber in His presence. And I was sorry I had not felt his fingers subtlety caressing my hair as I dozed.

-

I clear my throat and wet my parched lips with my tongue. My voice has already been exhausted, though so much more I have to tell. I notice a youthful twinkle in Albus' eyes, and I cannot help but smile. But I sense he is also troubled by something. Something that has tormented me for years, ever since Tom had vanished.

_How could such a kind boy have grown into such a heartless killer?_


	8. Whispers and Secrets Revealed

Please remember to leave a review. And if you are not fond of this story, perhaps you will prefer _To Build Immortality_ by mageintheshadows. Her descriptions are lovely, and Tom is incredibly in character. Leave a review for her, if you decide to drop by.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Eight:  
Whispers and Secrets Revealed

I moaned as I awoke the next morning. Another year of my schooling had begun; another year which I expected to be monotonous and lonely (save for my sole company of Tom). How wrong I was. If only I had known my destiny the day he knocked the books from my arms, perhaps I would have gone about my way through life differently from that point on. And if only I had realized that my fifth year at Hogwarts was to become a nightmare in the end.

I could hear the voices of my fellow Ravenclaws chattering noisily, and they were but a buzz in my ears until I distinguished that not all of them were female. I blinked and jolted upright, wondering where I was.

One of the boys laughed as I did this. My cheeks colored instantly in embarrassment. Was _I_ now the subject of their cruel jokes? I self-consciously tried to flatten my hair–being disheveled from my subconscious movements–and straighten my robe, which was twisted around my waist and legs in an awkward fashion.

"Did you see her?" I heard a girl say, her friends' whispers enhanced by giggles. "What a dolt! Can you imagine-" They noticed me staring at them, and they fell silent, though still giggled madly.

I pried myself from the arm chair and fled to my dormitory. There, I was greeted by silence. Silence that was soon broken by my minute, stifled sobs. _So this is how my year is to be_, I thought bitterly, cursing myself and those who had taunted me. I was sensitive to whatever unkind comments they threw at me only because my existence had never been acknowledged by any of them before.

I felt a hot surge of anger well up inside of me as I gazed hostilely at the door. Hunger ebbed at my stomach, pinching and bubbling and clawing it. But I waited, concentrating thoroughly on Rowan, who was lazily preening his feathers. Their golden tips caught what few meager rays of sunlight that had managed to penetrate through the curtains. It took my mind from things, however temporarily.

When I was assured that my tormenters had left, I made my way to the Great Hall. The enticing aromas sharpened my senses and rekindled the emptiness in my stomach. And so I ate heartily, trying my best to ignore the sneers I received from those sitting around me.

I scanned the tables for Tom, but he wasn't there, which I found odd, for our schedules would be distributed soon, and classes would commence.

I hated it when he disappeared from anyone's knowledge for hours at a time, only to be discovered in some remote corner of the castle or in the library. I was dreadfully curious to know where it was he hid. Not that it was a challenge to lose oneself in the many corridors and passageways, but Tom always seemed to know exactly where he was headed. He was as familiar with the school as he was his own name. Often, I would find him emerging from a doorway I was not even aware of was there.

-

Tom's absence from meals steadily increased as the weeks passed, and I grew worried for his health. Once again, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws were put into Transfiguration together, so I thankfully saw him then. But with Dumbledore as the professor, he always seemed nervous. I still could not understand their dislike–or was it mistrust?–for each other. Professor Dumbledore seemed as kind and as reasonable as Tom did, so what had spurred it between them? I frequently wondered if I was the only one that had noticed it.

Dumbledore also expressed reluctance to pair us together, or even to have us sit near each other. There had to be reason to it, but what secrets had he withheld? There were so many questions I had, and all without an explanation. It was all I could do to keep from going mad from my ignorance.

And nothing changed, until one day, when I decided to follow Tom Riddle.

The sky was dark, though it was not yet dusk; the clouds had thickened and now closed in ominously against the topmost turrets of the castle. Rain fell in slanted sheets against the stones, threatening to wear away at their might. Thunder rumbled as my stomach had done, and lightning would illuminate the window pane every moment or so. Though we witnessed the awesome power of the storm only through means of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, it was still frightening.

I watched Tom out of the corner of my eye throughout the entire meal. I had to be sure that he would not escape without my knowledge.

As I suspected he would, he slipped away before the golden plates were cleared to make way for the desserts.

I kept my distance, not wanting to be noticed just yet. If I were to have let myself be known, he would not have revealed to me his greatest secret thus far.

He was pain-stakingly careful, stopping to lean into the shadows perhaps more often than was needed. I could hear his breathing turn shallow with each corner he turned; or doorway he crossed over. But in spite of his nervous habits, he remained completely and utterly silently; as did I. More than once I risked discovery by letting out the smallest of peeps. For however small they were, they echoed deafeningly in the pressing silence of the deserted corridors. Yet so intent was he on reaching his destination that he seemed not to notice–or otherwise took it for a normal sound in a castle teeming with enchantments.

Other times, I almost lost sight of him, and had to trust my intuition when the occasion arose. In a miraculous sense, I was never wrong save for once. But that corridor was long, and so it was not with any difficulty that I was able to find him. We walked for seemingly hours before doubt began to creep into my mind. Did he know I was there? Or had he simply become lost in the labyrinth of a school? I could hardly believe either of the two. Tom was too..._special_, or different, rather, and as such, he was slipping away from me.

It was with confusion that I saw him enter the girls' lavatories. It was befuddling. But all would be explained over the course of the next few minutes.

I waited a moment before swinging open the door, so as not to surprise him too much. But when I did, it was impossible to tell who was more shocked.

A sink had opened to reveal a gaping, cavernous hole in the center of the wall. It looked to have been hastily cut, or had once been attached to a sewer pipe (which was most likely the case). Tom was in the middle of squeezing through the grime-covered opening, feet first, backing slowly into it. He was muttering something then, something that I _should not_ have been able to understand.

He was speaking Parselmouth, and I could understand every word.

"Danielle!" he hissed in a startled, serpentine tongue, and froze.

"T-Tom!" I squeaked. "W-what are you doing!"


	9. The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter Nine:  
The Chamber of Secrets**

He blinked. "Danielle..." He had reverted to English, though it would not have mattered either way. "How-?"

My lips quivered. There was a note of anger in his voice that he had not ever used with me before. But there was also disbelief, and for that, I could not help but feel sickeningly proud. I had caught him, at last. "I f-followed you," I stammered, then added, before he could protest, "I was _worried_ about you, Tom! You should have told me, and I would not have had to!"

It would have been an awkward scene, had anyone walked in after me. There I stood, just in the doorway of the girls' lavatories, stiffly staring at the boy who was protruding from the wall. I wrapped the ends of my hair nervously around my fingers, weaving the strands around them before letting them fall again. The anger on Tom's face dissipated to what was almost disappointment. "You should have stayed," he croaked, and struggled to pull himself from the opening. I raced to help him, but he waved my hand away.

"P-please forgive me, Tom!" I choked, feeling hurt.

He sighed. "It was bound to happen. You were bound to wonder... I have not hidden this well enough."

"I am sorry..." I said meekly.

He motioned for me to stand beside him in the middle of the tiled floor, just before the hole. "I am going to tell you all that I can without putting you in danger. I had meant to wait, but now..."

I looked down at my feet.

"Do you have the locket I gave you?" he asked.

"Yes, it is here." I lowered my neck and pulled the delicate chain over my head. I let it rest in my palm for a moment before it slid into his outstretched fingers.

"The reason that you can understand me," he began in Parseltongue, "lies within this locket... and Salazar Slytherin. Come."

He took my hand in order to lead me to the hole. Then, he dropped it and smiled somberly as he disappeared inside of it. I peered after him incredulously. I was–most obviously–to follow, but I hesitated with my foot half-dangling into the inky blackness that the opening had created. Something was not right about it.

I swallowed and gingerly lifted myself inside. The pipe–for it _was_ a pipe, I discovered–smelled of rotting sewage; the aged debris and mold were caked along the rusting, iron sides. I felt a layer of slime ooze beneath my fingers when I placed them beside me, preparing to propel myself down the disgusting passage. I held my breath and let myself slowly slide along until I had picked up to a considerable speed.

Other, smaller pipes whisked past me as I was roughly jerked from side to side to follow the cylindrical course. The surface was an uneven one, so many a time I felt myself bruise on a particularly unstable turn. My hair was flattened against my scalp and streamed behind me; tiny strands were occasionally pulled from their roots, so great was the force at which I sped by.

Finally, the darkness was broken by a flickering glow that I recognized as the end of my wretched journey. I saw Tom's face poke into it and obstruct the light. He called my name.

"I am coming, Tom!" I answered to his queries, trying to slow myself to a halt; an impossible task, I was moving too quickly.

I panicked, but managed to rid of my fear in time to be hurled from the mouth of the pipe. I screamed as I twisted in the dank air.

"Sh," Tom whispered, clapping a hand over my mouth after I had landed safely in his arms. "You might wake It."

"Wake what?" I asked, my voice muffled. I was slightly stunned as I glanced at his face; my heart nearly stopped before it sped to beat in a brisk, irregular pattern.

_This is not the time for thoughts like... like **that**!_ I silently scolded myself.

The torches, resting in brackets that had been set into the wall, cast shadows on his skin; their light glinted in his eyes. His jaw was set in firm determination, his thin lips slightly parted. A few strands of his ebony locks–he had let them grow out a bit–fell into his eyes, disturbed from their place when he had hastened to reach me. His gaunt face looked haunted, but it only garnished his handsome features. I had not noticed him in _that way_ since my fourth year. But my feelings had been rekindled in the blink of an eye. I was thankful that the torches also disguised the blush that had crept its way on to my cheeks.

He withdrew his hand from my mouth. It had felt rough and calloused pressed gently against my lips.

"Welcome, Danielle," he whispered, setting me down, "to the Chamber of Secrets." He left me for a moment to stand between two tall, statuesque serpents that stood pillar-like as if guarding something. "Open," he murmured in Parseltongue. He turned to look back at me from over his shoulder. "You must tell _no one_ of this place, _ever_. _Swear_ you won't."

"There is no one for me to tell," I reminded him.

"_Swear to me, Danielle_!" His eyes gleamed madly.

"I swear," I hissed, quietly fearful.

He nodded approvingly as an entryway appeared before us. It opened into a vast stone chamber. Our footsteps echoed in the cavernous room as Tom led me to an enormous statue. It towered above us; I gaped at it in awe. The pathway we stood upon was flanked by still channels of water, reflecting a greenish, serpentine pattern upon our faces and that of the primitive-looking monument.

"Tom, how did you _discover_ such a place?" I gasped, pivoting and craning my neck to take in all that surrounded us.

"Can you not see it?" he asked, his eyes flashing. He paused. "I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin..."

My hands fell limply to my sides. "What! Tom, you... you _cannot_ be!"

"And why is that?" he spat maliciously.

"You just cannot!" I had fallen to the floor on my knees. "You cannot... I _will not_ believe it..."

"But you must, Danielle! I thought you would be able to understand! That is why I gave you the locket! I see now that it was a mistake." He stared at me, the last traces of warmth vanishing from his face.

He dropped my locket to the ground, letting it clatter upon the stones. It fell open, revealing a tiny silver key.

"What is this?" I asked, temporarily forgetting his anger. I took it gently in my fingers as I reached for it; my legs still planted to the floor.

"A key," he snapped coldly, pacing furiously at the far end of the chamber. "It unlocks all that is linked to this place. Surely it is obvious... surely... surely..." He fell silent.

"Is everything alright, Tom?"

"I thought that... perhaps... you would have accepted me..."

"Tom?"

"Nothing. Leave if you must. It matters not to me."

He lay a hand at rest on one of the great folds of the statue's garb. The other was clenched in a fist. His back was to me, and I could see his shoulders shaking. "I thought... that at least _you_..." His strained voice trailed off into nothing, deadened by the closeness of the stone.

I hung my head shamefully and in sorrow, hot tears running along the bridge of my nose and dropping to form wet puddles on my legs. "I am so sorry..."


	10. The Basilisk

This is where the writing begins to pick up, I think. The latter half of this chapter is one of my favorite scenes.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Ten:  
The Basilisk

"Have I frightened you, Danielle?" he asked quietly, still not facing me.

I nodded, unable to speak for fear that a despairing gasp would escape from my opened mouth. My head was tilted forward enough so that my hair hung stringily to shroud my face. All that Tom would have been able to see were the bottoms of my lips and chin. My hands rested on my thighs, kneading at my robe like a pensive cat. The hem was tattered from my journey through the pipe, as well as dripped heinously with slime. My body gave an involuntary shudder.

"What has happened to you?" I managed quietly to say. "This place has consumed you."

"Perhaps it has," he replied defensively, "but that is not for you to judge, nor for me to question. I can do nothing about who I am."

"Yes you can. You can leave this evil place."

"It is not that simple!" he cried, bringing his fist forcefully upon the stone.

We heard next a loud, resonating 'crack' as a thin line began to appear where Tom had released his anger. It grew larger, and Tom went rigid. "Do not look up, Danielle, whatever you do! It is coming." His voice had gone dry, his entire attitude changing.

A curious reflex caused me to pry my gaze from the ground, and I screamed. An enormous snake had begun to slither through the crack that had soon widened to a crevice. "DO NOT LOOK UP!" he bellowed. I instantaneously averted my eyes and covered them with my hands. I knew what it was.

I heard the great basilisk drag its body toward me along the gravelly stones. The chamber quaked in its might. I could feel its deadly eyes boring into the back of my head; it sniffed for me win the air with quick flicks and darts of its tongue. I trembled and removed my hands from _my_ eyes, (though I kept them shut and swore to do so until the monster had left). I squeezed my arms and crossed them over my chest as a barrier to protect myself.

It curled its tail around my legs and teased at my face with its tongue. I sensed its giant head mere centimeters from my own; its hot breath swirling from its nostrils and pushing the hair from my eyes. I felt its scaly flesh brush over my fingers as it circled around my frail body, undoubtedly regarding me with distrust and curiosity.

"It is alright, Danielle," Tom cooed, "It will not harm you, so long as you do not look into Its eyes. I will not let It."

After a few more terrifying minutes, I was released from the Basilisk's grasp. I inched further from it before I heard a dull rumble pulsating from its throat. And then I realized...

..._it was purring._

One of the most vicious killers known to the wizarding world was gently nuzzling my neck.

I hesitantly lifted my hand to stroke its nose, incredulous at what I or It was doing. I could only imagine Tom's shocked look, for I dared not to confirm it in fear that the creature would accidentally strike me dead. Tom swore softly, and I grinned in spite of myself. There was an odd, exhilarating thrill at the danger that the Basilisk could have me crushed or otherwise killed in the literal blink of an eye.

From that moment on, I had acquired a total of two friends: Tom and the Basilisk.

-

"Interesting..." Dumbledore murmurs, thoughtfully stroking his beard. I twist my thumbs around each other in a silent, nervous war.

I stretch my mouth into a yawn.

"I think it best if we resume tomorrow, you must be exhausted, Ms. Riddle."

"Thank you, Albus," I sigh gratefully. "I shall be at the Ministry by eight o'clock, then?"

He nods. "If that is what you wish."

Albus accompanies me to the front desk, though I continue on my own to the newly-finished fountain. They have recently rebuilt it after its destruction at Tom's return to power. Now, it is even more spectacular than it had been before. Not a fleck of dust marrs its golden surface.

I dip my fingers into the crystal clear water, cupping a handful in my palm before I let it trickle slowly away. I linger near the proud centaur and touch its gracefully arching tail; it has seemingly been frozen in mid-'swish'.

I fumble in my robes in search for my wand. The welcome witch eyes me suspiciously, leaning over a heaping mound of scattered papers. I exhale heavily and Apparate.

The manor is disorderly and dusty, as I have let its care slip from my grasp over the years. Cobwebs line my shelves where there had once been paper. I point my wand at where I know the fireplace to be, shooting flames into the soot-filled hole and bringing feeble light to the entryway. I doubt that anyone realizes that I still reside in this desolate place, even Tom, who had known it as his home as I do.

I drape my overcoat across the molding back of my favorite yet threadbare armchair. In its prime, it had been overstuffed and upholstered with costly maroon velvet, standing proud near the limestone fireplace. The arms were intricately carved in mahogany. But now, they are but solemn reminders of the life I once had. _We_ once had.

I settle onto the worn cushion and imagine, as I gaze into the dancing flames, that He is seated across from me, pensively reading a leather-bound novel. Instead, all that I see is bleak rubble, darkness, and wraiths of despair, haunting me as I remember... and have remembered...

I lift myself from the chair, supporting myself by gasping the cracked arms.

The box is hidden where I last left it years ago. I push aside the tattered draperies and withdraw it from its secret place behind them and the painting. He had made it to match the locket, so that is what I keep inside of its careful hold. I trail my fingers along the inside rim of the lid until I find the minute difference in textures. He had hidden it cleverly, as well, making it flush with the surrounding, ornate surface.

I pry loose the cover of yet another secret compartment. Only it is shallow and protected by a thin layer of cracked glass. When I brush away the dust, I am hailed jubilantly by a faded photograph. (It had lain unbeknownst to me for years before I finally discovered it.) There are two people framed by the box. Two incredibly happy and young people; a witch and a wizard, both beaming joyously at the occasion.

I trace the outline of the man, though he seems not to notice. And as I do, it triggers the music.

I feel a horrible pain in my heart, and I close my eyes, listening to the woeful tune the music box plays for me, never to forget.

**_Tom and Danielle Riddle "'til death do us part."_** is what has been inscribed below our wedding photograph.


	11. I Am Lady Teilleen Bellezareph

**Chapter Eleven:  
I Am Lady Teilleen Bellezareph**

I wake the next morning to the bitter cold that has greeted me each day since He left. My body feels heavy and it is all that I can do to keep from sinking slowly back into my bed, never to be seen again by anyone in this world. If only I can. But I have not yet completed my tale, so here I must remain.

I hear a sharp knock upon my door, the sound echoing until it reaches my bedchamber. I hurry to pull on a decent robe; one that has not been defeated by time. Ironically, it was once the hue of Slytherin green.

"Albus!" I exclaim upon turning the brass door nob and finding Dumbledore standing patiently on the other side of the screen. I fumble in my haste to show him inside. Once he has been seated comfortably, I put a kettle on the stove top to boil water for tea. We both enjoy the simplicity of muggle ways at appropriate times, and this particular visit seems to be one of them.

"I mean not to sound rude, Albus," I say, handing him a steaming cup. He holds it poised in his gnarled hands with an eyebrow raised–a sign for me to continue. "For I _did_ tell you yesterday that I would come to the Ministry..."

He takes a sip of his tea. "I did not wish to burden you any further, Ms. Riddle, so it seemed necessary for us to meet at the location which would be best for you."

"I thank you for your concern," I reply, then add, "But you know, you _may_ call me Danielle... After all, it has been years since I last set foot on the Hogwarts grounds."

"Some things are obliged never to change," he states simply.

I nod respectfully and bring my cup to my lips. I blow upon and ripple the surface, disturbing the steeping herbs that have settled at the bottom. And I begin again.

-

With my newfound tool, the key, I was able to access the Chamber of Secrets whenever I pleased. Tom was not always there, of course–he had his own agenda–but it mattered not to me. For I would always have the Basilisk to keep me company, though an odd company it was. I sometimes wondered if Tom ever grew jealous of the bond that had formed between the great serpent and I, but I doubted it highly. He was not the type to obsess over something such as that. Besides, It was as friendly to him–if not more–as it was to me.

Once, we remained in the Chamber for an entire night, the three of us. The locket served me well for that, as it allowed me to converse with the Basilisk.

"Danielle," it hissed quietly, startling me. I had been concentrating on a transfiguration essay. (There seemed to be an endless supply of them as of late.)

I was careful not to look up when I replied. "Yes?"

Tom, however, seemed to be immune to its gaze, as he could stare it straight in the eye, which was what he happened to be doing at the moment. It was a rare occasion for the snake to speak, and even more so directly to anyone individually.

"You are troubled, no? I sssensssse great sssorrow."

"What do you mean?" I asked, taken-aback.

"You are ressssstlessss, little one. What issss it that plaguesss you sssso?"

"You must be mistaken, begging your pardon, I am perfectly alright," I lied, trying to sound convincing. I did not think that either of them believed me, though they kept silent. But what _was_ it that troubled me?

Tom Riddle, above other things.

He had been distant; so distant that I sometimes wondered if he suddenly left his body at spontaneous periods of time. I learned that he had created a name for himself only days before from the Basilisk, as well. Tom had not been present when It had informed me of his recent development, but his presence was not needed to the news to affect me as it did. I wondered afterward if I had overreacted, and perhaps I had. To me, at the time, it had only been a meaningless name, something that would be forgotten eventually. But still, in itself, 'Lord Voldemort' was a sinister title. Or rather, 'I am Lord Voldemort,' as he put it.

I inspected it, and found it to be a puzzle, almost. He had rearranged the letters in his own name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, to become the simple phrase that it was. A phrase that would one day cause wizards and non-wizards alike to cower in terror. But what was I to know of that?

It was a fine _idea_, however, in my opinion. I had even tested it myself, only the results were less satisfactory than his. The only thing I had managed to produce that was even halfway decent was 'I am Lady Teillen Bellezareph' from my 'Danielle Elyzabeth Parmellie,' and even that sounded odd and illogical. It did not roll off of one's tongue flawlessly. And I _did_ mention it to Tom once. He had only laughed.

"A fair attempt," he had said, his eyes glimmering amiably. He had been in a peculiarly cheerful disposition that day.

"Well," I had begun huffily, resting my palms upon my slender hips. I had pretended to be hurt–emotionally, not physically.

He snickered, and I scrunched up my nose, giggling. "I suppose it _is_ rather '_interesting_'" I admitted.

"Most definitely unique," he shrugged, and I pushed at his arm playfully.

"Oh, do stop, Tom, your endless compliments are making me blush!" I rolled my eyes sarcastically. There _was_ a bit of truth in that, though, for I _was_ somewhat flustered. For what reason, I did not know. I had felt not in the least bit embarrassed, nor ill, nor... nor...

Did I dare to even think such things anymore? I was not at all romantic in any way. As far as I could tell, Tom was the same. So _why_ did my cheeks flush such a color when he was near, or when I even spoke to him? Such things were bothersome and a constant disability, as it seemed unavoidable that he would notice.

"Perhaps you should see to it that you make a trip to the Hospital Wing, Danielle, your face has been awfully crimson as of late," he commented lightly, but there was a concerned tone to his nonchalance.

"Oh, er, has it really?" I sputtered stupidly, my blush darkening. He looked at me quizzically and brought the back of his hand up to touch my forehead as though testing for a fever.

"You are a peculiar witch, Danielle," he sighed, shaking his head.

"How is that? And you are not so ordinary yourself," I said defensively.

He smirked. "Perhaps, but _I have_ got an excuse..."

He frowned as a rather large boy came careening past us down the corridor as though a Lethifold were at his heels. He almost lost his balance, nearly toppling over into Tom. "Watch it, Hagrid," he snarled.

"Er, sorry 'bout that, Riddle," the boy replied gruffly before hastening away.

That was to be the fateful day in which we heard the screams.

"An attack! There's been a horrid accident!"

And so it was to begin.


	12. The Bridge Between Sanity and Madness

**Chapter Twelve:  
The Bridge Between Sanity and Madness**

Tom's eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, he glanced into mine. Our gazes locked in silent understanding before we simultaneously turned and raced down the corridor where we had last heard the cry. Tom was much faster than I, his feet hammering loudly and drowning out my own steps. My fingers were clenched tightly around a small section of my robe in an attempt to keep the material up from my path. I felt a lump in my throat for the apprehension of what we might discover at the source of the scream. From the look that Tom had given me, I had seen something rare. There had been a flicker of surprise shrouded in a gleam of fear. Anything that frightened him was sure to cause me sheer terror. But I had noticed something else, as well. I was not sure if he had meant to betray the guilt that shone purely from that slight glance. Though, it was the most apparent. _Oh, God,_ I thought, _What has he done?_

The next corner that we turned revealed a scene of panic and chaos. It seemed that we had not been quick enough—for all our haste—to reach it before a crowd could gather. I clutched the metal shoulder of a suit of armor to support myself. I doubled over and gasped; I was unaccustomed to such sudden spurts of physical activity. When I was able to stand upright, I saw Tom pushing his way to the center of the throng. In fact, they drew back, despite their obvious curiosity, to let us pass, closing the gaps immediately behind us as we pushed further forward. Whispers flew and spread quickly like a greedy, devouring flame.

When I saw what had caused the screams, I gasped and turned away. I peered at Tom through trembling fingers. His face had gone deathly white, though it was impossible to read his thoughts.

In the center of the corridor was a girl. Her red hair was strewn over the stones, surrounding her head in a firey mane. Her thin lips were slightly parted, and her brown eyes were wide, a look of shock. She lay spread-eagled with her robes clinging to her in tatters. She bore no traces of blood, or even of being harmed at all. The girl seemed to have been facing a window when she had fallen, and to her chest was pinned the badge of Head Girl.

"Tom?" I asked timidly. I stepped over her limp arm to stand beside him.

"She is alive," he croaked, barely audible.

"What happened to her?"

He placed his shaking hands on either of my shoulders and looked squarely into my eyes. I swallowed, fearful. "Do you remember why," he murmured, "you are never permitted to look into the eyes of the Basilisk?" I nodded and waited for him to continue. "That girl"—he motioned to the body—"has been petrified. By the Basilisk."

"But how-?"

"She did not look at it... exactly. You see the window? She is facing it, correct? The monster came to her from behind, there is no other way..." He glanced at the nervous crown behind my shoulder and demanded for someone to fetch the Headmaster. A bobbing second-year Hufflepuff obeyed. Gravely, he brought his attention back to me. "Do you know what this means, Danielle? The Basilisk will not obey my commands any longer. I-" Distracted, he returned his gaze to those curiously staring over my shoulder. "Come." He grasped my sweating hand and pulled me along until we reached the dungeons.

"Ow, Tom, you are hurting me! Where-?" I cried. Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I looked around me. I had never been to that part of the castle before, so I was entirely unsure of what Tom's intentions were.

"Sh," he hissed. "Can you not hear it as I do?" He held his finger to my lips and I fell silent, listening. Soon, I began to notice of what he was speaking.

A slithering sound echoed through the pipes above us. It was faint at first, but it grew louder even as we stood there. A chilling voice accompanied it.

_Kill... destroy..._

I yelped in spite of myself. Tom clamped his entire hand over my mouth in a firm grip. "Be quiet," he ordered silently, "or it will find us." I shuddered and relaxed under his touch. Only when the serpent had long since left us did he release me.

"From now on, Danielle, you must never enter the Chamber again. Ever. You heard what It said." He did not meet my gaze. There was something vital that he had left out, and was hiding from me, purposefully elusive.

"You think it will kill me?" I asked, sounding calmer than I felt. My blood had momentarily run cold.

He shook his head slowly. "Not you."

"Why? Tell me, Tom. Hiding the answers will not keep me from harm, or anyone else, for that matter. You know that." My tone turned bitter, and he hung his head.

"It will not attack... _Purebloods_... Only Muggle-borns... and squibs..."

My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp. "You mean...?" It was hardly necessary for me to continue a though that didn't require being voiced in the first place. We both knew—Tom more than I—what had caused Salazar Slytherin to create the Chamber and leave Hogwarts. We both knew that he had despised and looked down upon the "filth" he called Mudbloods. And we knew... _I knew_... that the Basilisk had decided to once again serve its master and begin its task to rid the school of those found unworthy, in his eyes, to study magic.

My head swam. "We have to stop it, Tom!" I cried shrilly. "We have to—whatever is the matter?" I resisted stroking an ebony lock from his clouded face, settling for placing my hand on his arm. He recoiled, and I drew back my hand, hurt.

"It is terrible, Danielle..." he muttered. He shook his head slowly from side to side. "_Terrible_..." He seemed to be half speaking to himself and half to me. It pained me to see him in that mad state. My heart throbbed with pity and my relentless emotions.

"Tom?"

He began to pace. Not even my words were powerful enough to reach him. He muttered, cursing and pleading, under his breath, suddenly oblivious to everything. When he finally came to an abrupt halt, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I have been horrible, Danielle..." he whispered. "The Basilisk is not the true monster here..."

"You are _not_ a monster, Tom," I told him firmly.

"What have I done, Danielle!" he cried, shaking me by my shoulders. "What have I done!" he let me go and grabbed at the dungeon wall.

"You have not done anything!" I sobbed.

"But I have." He grinned like a madman. "I am the one that sent the Basilisk."

His words sent me into a dead faint.


	13. Hagrid

**Chapter Thirteen:  
Hagrid**

The attacks continued, though none of them were fatal. Twelve muggle-borns slept peacefully in the Hospital Wing by the end of the next month. Every day, I searched for Tom, but always without luck, though I heeded his warning about not venturing into the Chamber. I had to avoid that lavatory altogether, eventually, so great was the temptation to use the Key. I would not see him until May.

I had taken to walking in the Forbidden Forest during those lonely months. I knew that I risked expulsion by doing so, but it was the only thing that seemed to keep me occupied. Homework and classes were not nearly enough. And although the Forest offered me tranquility, it would never be able to help me purge my mind of Tom. The whimsical, musical calling of the birds calmed me, and the steady crunching of my tread through dead leaves was hypnotic, but they could only do so much for me. They could never shatter his image, or make his voice vanish, or even push the memory of his touch farther than the back corner of my brain. I longed to see him again, my heart aching more and more as the days passed. But on one of those days, I met someone who could relieve the pain while I was in his presence. A friendly _giant_ by the name of Rubeus Hagrid.

That day, I had traveled farther into the Forest than I had ever been before. I could not tell if it was night or day in the outside world, all I knew was that the thick canopy of trees shrouded whatever light–from sun or moon or stars–was shining above. I would not admit to myself that I was lost. Instead, I continued my walk, assuring myself that soon I would rediscover the path. The hem of my robe was torn. I left a loose black thread whenever the fabric snagged on a twig or root. I was not frightened. Hardly anything frightened my anymore. I was only worried. Worried that I would never be free from the looming, dense growth. I could survive the night if I had to, but then what would have been the point of returning to the castle? As soon as I would step foot through the entrance, I would have been sent packing. That would not do, I had nowhere to go. No, I had to get out.

But how?

It was far too difficult to retrace my steps. No doubt I had been wandering aimlessly for hours. Escape seemed as likely as Professor Dumbledore shaving his beard.

Suddenly, I heard voices coming from the undergrowth in front of me. They stopped as I grew near, save for a short set of tiny, muffled squeaks. "Hello?" I called after a moment's hesitation.

"Parmellie?" came a surprised, gruff-voiced reply. I staggered back.

"Who are you?"

A boy, taller than any I had seen at his age, with wild brown hair and small black eyes emerged from a tangled bush. He was twice as wide as I, but he had to be in order to be proportioned with his great height. I knew him instantly. "Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid." He offered me his hand. I shook it.

"Danielle Parmellie." I could hardly contain my joy. The sight of another student, one who undoubtedly knew the Forest better than anyone, was a stroke of luck I had never expected.

"What're yeh doin' 'ere, Parmellie?" His saucer-sized hands were now behind his back as if he were shielding something from me.

"I, er... I have lost my way," I reluctantly explained. I shifted my weight nervously to my right leg.

Hagrid raised a bushy eyebrow. "Yer not s'pose' ter be 'ere."

"I know..." I stuck out my bottom lip stubbornly. "But neither are you."

He shrugged, showing his indifference.

"I was only out for a walk..."

"In th' Fores'?"

"It clears my mind."

"Fair 'nough."

"What have you got behind your back?" I asked, curiousity over coming me.

He made an unconscious movement to hide it further. "Nothin'." As if in response, there came an indignant shuffling from behind his stocky legs. A great, furry head poked its way into view. Pincers clacked open and shut above where its mouth must have been located. I shrunk back and nearly screamed.

"Wh-what is that?" I stuttered.

"He ain't gonna 'urt nobody!" the boy protested.

"I n-never said that... I only asked what it _was_..." I was feeling unnaturally brave when I talked to him. I did not know why. Ever since my last encounter with Tom, I _felt_ braver. I could not explain it, even then.

"_He_," he corrected. "Aragog."

"Is it a spider?"

"No' really..."

Hagrid led me, as I had hoped, to the entrance of the Forbidden Forest. Night had fallen; the moon was high over head. "I'll leave yeh here," he told me at the border.

"Are you not coming back to Hogwarts?" I asked incredulously.

He grinned. "No' yet."

I beamed back at him and patted Aragog's fuzzy head. "And what are you and Hagrid up to now, hm?" I cooed at the arachnid.

"I've got ter take 'em back ter th' forest'," Hagrid said. His expression was dark. "He's in a righ' bit o' trouble with Riddle..."

I flinched, then frowned. "What does Tom have to do with this?"

"'E's blamin' the attacks on 'im! Not ter everyone, mind yeh... bu' I've talked ter 'im 'afore... and 'e..." Hagrid sighed and shook his scruffy head. "Ye'd best ter be goin' now, Danielle."

"Thank you for your help, Hagrid," I told him with genuine kindness. But instead of the placidness that I normally left the Forest in, it was replaced with a troubled sense of reality. _What exactly had Tom told Hagrid?_ I wondered. _And why?_ I did not dare ask either one of them, for I knew that one would reveal it to me in due course of time. With another murmur of gratitude, I began to walk to the castle. From then on, I met Hagrid on the outskirts of the Forest each night for one month.

-

One night, I was out particularly late. I did not know of what hour it was, and I could not tell. But I guessed that it was near midnight, though, judging by the position of the moon. At all other costs, I could not be caught by anyone. As silently as mortally possible, I closed the heavy castle doors. I briefly sagged against them in relief, fluttering my eyelids shut with a quiet sigh. I did not believe that anyone would be able to approach me in that short amount of time without me being aware of it, but I was soon to be proven wrong.

"Parmellie," said an amused voice from the shadows. "_Whatever_ are you doing out so late?"


	14. Forgiveness and Reasoning

**Chapter fourteen:  
Forgiveness and Reasoning**

It was Tom.

"What are you doing here?" I was asked for the second time that month. I inquired the same of him. He laughed coldly.

"It is a fine thing, _you_ asking _me_ what I have been doing, when you have vanished for the past few months!" I hissed angrily. I could at least _pretend_ to be upset with im, for I knew that any rage I directed toward him would not last long.

"Were you _worried_ about me, Parmellie?" he smirked.

"Stop with the sarcasm, Tom." Then, as an afterthought, I added, "and the formalities." The fact that he had not addressed me by my first name had cut a deep, painful wedge into my heart. If he took any notice, he did not mention it. I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest.

He faltered slightly, looking unsure, as if the old Tom Riddle that I knew and loved was trying desperately to surface, but was being stifled in its attempt. I silently pleaded for him to be victorious in his inner battle, but after a moment, I could see that he would not be. The former Tom Riddle seemed to be lost for good. I cursed the being that had done it to him, whoever it was.

He circled me like a ravenous vulture inspecting its prey. I followed his movement with my eyes. They were locked with his. It felt like hours before either of us spoke. "I am sorry, Danielle," he murmured. "I do not know what has come over me anymore. I hardly know who or what I am when I look into a mirror. I came to beg for your forgiveness... I have done something dreadful again." His eyes glistened with sincerity. "I swear to you that it was an accident. I swear that I had not meant for it to go so far as this. You were right all along, I should have stopped It." He sighed.

"What have you done?" I breathed. He looked away .

"There is a girl... in the lavatory that contains the entrance to the Chamber... She is dead, Danielle, the Basilisk killed her. She looked into its eyes."

I gasped. "Is anyone else aware-?"

"No. I am to tell Dippet in the morning, if someone does not find her body by then. Danielle, I swear..."

"I know. And I forgive you."

"You do not know what this means to me," he croaked, and suddenly pulled me into an embrace. It was one of the first signs of affection that I had received from him.

I emitted a soft "Oh!" before melting into his arms. My skin tingled with warmth, my body pressed innocently against his felt so wonderful and so right. Had I not my head buried in his chest, he would have most certainly noticed the violent blush that colored my cheeks.

-

"You got him expelled!" I screamed. "Expelled!" I was no longer flushed with embarrassment, but with fury. "I cannot believe you!" I cared little who heard, or if anyone could hear at all. The lake glistened peacefully to my right, the surface smooth. I cried even as I pounded my small fists upon his chest. "You have ruined his _life_, Tom, his life! Does that mean nothing to you at all!" He took my rare temper in silence, and waited for me to finish.

"It had to be done," he said softly after I collapsed into him. "There was no other way. At least he is remaining as gamekeeper." He stroked my thin hair absently, weaving his fingers through it.

"It is not the same," I protested, my voice muffled by his robe. I had long-since soaked the cloth in my salty tears.

"The Basilisk is asleep once more," he murmured. "In eternal slumber it will lie, until someone awakens it. It will not be me who does so."

"How can you promise me that?" I asked. "How can you promise for your actions in the future?"

"I cannot," he admitted. "But so long as I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, my promise will stand. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes," I replied meekly.

"Very well."

The old Tom Riddle had won. Or so I thought.

-

The year drew to a close much as it had the year before. But instead of normal exams, we were to take our OWLS, it being our fifth year. Tom and I studied each night that we could in the library. We oft times dozed off, only to awaken to darkness–I never understood how the librarian could be so ignorant of us. The candles burned low to mere piles of wax, though they smouldered and sometimes left a feeble flicker of orange to break into the blackness. In turn, we would discover a bottle of ink that had been upset by a lazy hand, seeping into and ruining all that we had worked on. It mattered not what was lost, for it was only ever scraps of parchment, their edges often singed by the dying flames.

Once, I discovered Tom not studying, but logging his thoughts away in the small diary I had given him for Christmas. "You should be studying," I informed him sleepily.

He grinned. "One less hour will not do much damage. Besides, if we do not rest soon, we will sleep through the examinations themselves. Then what would we do?"

I sighed airily to stifle my yawn. "All right, then. But I will have you know that I can go on for at least ten more minutes." I chuckled exhaustedly to myself. "Yes, at least that, if not more..."

"Of course," he said solemnly. He fought to keep from laughing.

"I am- I am only fooling," I said, caught in the middle of yet another persistent yawn.

"Good. Sleep."

"Oh, not _yet_..."

He sighed. "Danielle, you are delirious," he warned.

"Hm. Tom, you worry far too much."

He mocked concern. "Do I really?"

"Mm hm. What were you writing, anyway?"

"Nothing far from the ordinary..."

"Will you read it to me?"

"Will I _what_?"

I closed my eyes. "If it is all that more interesting than studying..."

"All right, all right."

I fell asleep to the sound of his gentle voice murmuring softly into my ear. I did not even wait to make any sense of it.


	15. The End of Another Year

**Chapter Fifteen:  
The End of Another Year**

I realized, as I walked with a satisfied smile curling at my lips, that I need not have worried at all about our OWLS. They had been so effortless and so simple that I nearly laughed aloud at myself and the stooped wizards that examined us. The feeble witch that had prodded at my Transfiguration skills squinted so, and it was challenging to convince myself that her sight reached past the tip of her nose. Tom's examiner–he informed me later–fared no better or worse. Tom had voiced his scorn at such improper judgement, fuming as we strolled side-by-side dangerously near to the edge of the lake. The farce tide teased my bare feet; I was eager to let my toes sink gleefully into the mud.

"Why, Tom!" I exclaimed, feigning surprise. "From the way that you are going on, I would say that you were actually planning on doing something productive with your life!"

He smirked. "Very droll, Danielle. You must agree, though... it is not a fair examination if the ones examining are incapable of doing so."

I shrugged. "It is simpler for us, then." I lifted the edge of my palm to my forehead in order to shade my eyes from the glaring effect the sun had upon the water's rippling surface. Tom squinted in disapproval to the light as he had protested when I bade us spend time outdoors. I had begun to suspect that Tom was nocturnal.

The grounds were still with the dead weight of hot air pressing around us. Nothing dared to cloud the azure sky on the wondrous summer afternoon that it was. I could taste the freedom balancing on the end of my tongue. I had not a care for what was to become of me when my fifth year came to a close, for my thoughts were only for the present.

"You have changed, my dear Danielle," he murmured in a half-teasing, half-serious tone.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked worriedly. "Is... is change not good?"

He chuckled, sending my heart in to a flurried panic. I nearly yelped and doubled over, catching myself at just the right moment. For my feelings had grown ever-stronger and omnipresent. Tom was everything to me. Although I was but fifteen, a fickle age for most girls such as I, I understood what it meant to be in love. Yes, I loved him with every fiber of my being. I had thought that the mere attraction that I had felt for him at fourteen was what was described as that strange, new idea. It was nothing in comparison to the emotion that burned deeply in the confines of my chest. I wondered, if a simple laugh from him could cause me so much glorious anguish, what would happen if... if...

I could not bring myself to even think of it. It was unrequited, what I felt.

I blushed furiously when I realized that Tom was staring at me strangely. "Danielle?"

I ducked my head in embarrassment. "I am sorry, Tom... what were we discussing?"

He grinned; I demanded my heart to be still. "The ways in which you have changed since we first met... Did you know that it has been over a year now? It amazes me..." He gazed at me with a near-wistful expression.

Indeed. It _had_ been over a year.

Fancy that.

-

Fate found us in the library, not for our study habits–there was no need to do so any longer–but as a common place to meet. Oft times, I caught myself wishing that I had been sorted into Slytherin, and not the accursed Ravenclaw. There was little for us to do in a room stacked high with books upon books save for having intimate conversations in the midst of them.

I seldom read any longer. It was a hobby I had given up before it had really become one. Before, it had been an obsession to hide from the faults of myself and the rest of the superficial world. But there was no longer any _need_ to hide. Not with Tom.

Tom was a solver of all problems alike. He had persuaded Professor Dippet to allow us to arrive at Hogwarts one month before the new term commenced. The remainder of the holiday we would be required to spend in an orphanage. _The_ orphanage, as Tom referred to it. He had resided there for nearly his entire life, and yet I hardly knew anything of it. He became irritable when the subject was touched upon, or stubbornly quiet. From what he _did_ describe of it, I did not hold much hope.

_It is degrading, _he told me once_, because it is for muggles. They know nothing of magic there..."_

-

The orphanage was more of an overrun boardinghouse than anything else. A tangled mass of weeds crept alongside the building and curled like demented green fingers though the decrepit windows and doorways. It was no small wonder that Tom had despised such a horrid location as that. He smiled at me grimly as we attempted to wade our way through a thicket of overgrown lawn. "Lovely place, do you not think?" he commented cooly. The waver in his tone revealed the uncertainty he held for revisiting something that clearly contained so many memories.

I grimaced sympathetically. "Let us hope that our stay here will not be prolonged." He nodded in agreement and rapped softly upon the rotting wooden door with his knuckles. A squat woman in her late forties thrust it open impatiently ere he could raise his hand for a second tap.

"Tom," she said curtly with the air of one that thinks upon themself as important, "Back again, are you? I see you've brought us a stray." She scrutinized me through her small, unkind eyes.

"My name is Danie-" I began, but was abruptly cut short.

"Do not speak unless spoken to! Where did you find the girl, Tom, an alleyway? We'll have to imprint some manners into this one." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

I stared at the shrewd female in shock. _An alleyway?_ I fumbled at a thin strand of my hair self-consciously. Tom glanced at my with pity. _Make her vanish!_ I silently beseeched him. She 'tutted' to herself as she led us to where we would dwell until late July.

Tom's room–he had acquired a permanent residence there–was shabby and sparsely furnished. A spare cot had been haphazardly set up in the corner opposite his usual bed, the blankets of which were still in shambles–most likely left askew from when he had fled the previous summer. A skeletal brass lamp stood despondently to one side. A cracked, dusty-encrusted mirror was the only true decoration that hung upon the greying walls. Tom shrugged and mouthed, _"It is not much."_

The woman glared between the pair of us. "Now, I'll have nothing _indecent_ from the two of you, or it's back to the streets with you both!" With that, she turned on her heels and left. Tom _blushed_ and avoided my gaze.

"She is as pleasant as always," he muttered, still determined not to look at me.

I grasped for a new topic. "So, er... what exactly _do_ we do here?"

He grimaced. "The 'Madam' will have us doing chores till it is noon, at the least. _You _will assist with the cooking. And I"–he sighed dramatically–"will be needed elsewhere than the kitchen.

I giggled. Already, the familiar environment had unearthed a side of him that I was not familiar with. Just when I thought I had begun to know him, I discovered that I had deeper yet to dig.


	16. Haunting Words & an Early Birthday Gift

**Chapter Sixteen:  
Haunting Words and an Early Birthday Gift**

The summer passed more quickly than I could have thought possible. _Madam_'s inflexible view of child labor worked my hands raw. Since I was _'the most hopeless and untalented cook' _she had ever seen, I was strictly to scour the cooking pots and clear the dishes once the meals were through. The putridly sweet odor of the grainy lavender bar of soap caused me to become nauseous as the first spot was sprayed with liquid. Secretly, (for she never watched me), Tom would help. I felt weak, having him do the only task that had been set aside and assigned for me. I voiced that thought but once, for he insisted. He informed me that he required something to keep his hands occupied. _Madam_ would not object so long as the work was completed. And I could never refuse Tom anything that he so desired.

"What do you plan to do once you have finished schooling?" he asked. His hands were consumed by the odorous bubbles. I was sitting near enough that I was frequently spattered by tiny flecks of moisture from his vigorous cleaning. I looked at him, startled.

"I do not really know... perhaps I will work at the Ministry," I replied truthfully. I had not leant any previous thought to a career any time before. I had no plans for my future. Somehow, I thought that I had not needed them. That was to become true, in a way.

He answered my unvoiced query. "I do not know either. Perhaps I will become the Minister of Magic one day!" He chuckled to himself, as did I.

"A fine goal, I am sure," I mused.

He paused. "I had thought about perhaps settling down, as well." His eyes lazily drifted to meet mine for a moment so brief that I wondered if I had perhaps imagined it. "It could be pleasant..."

I pondered at who the fortunate girl would be. It never once occurred to me that I might have a chance. We were but close friends, though I wished that we _could_ be more. Still, his words were haunting. What had he meant when he had uttered them?

And why mention it to me?

Tom had begun to blurt out spontaneous things at the oddest of times, often hinting of a secret relationship in which he was entwined. It grieved me to think that he was hiding such a petty secret from me. Surely by then I was trustworthy enough to him. Surely he believed that we could share such truths between us. But would I have been willing to do the same?

It was thrilling to slumber so near to Tom. I felt shallow admitting as much to myself, but I could not deny my feelings. I had already tried. I sometimes thought I heard the gentle tread of careful feet shuffling quietly to stand beside my cot, but I was never certain. If I felt a presence, it had dissipated ere I opened my eyes. And Tom's steady breathing was a comfort on the darkest of nights. Even on nights plagued by nightmares.

I did not realize that I had been weeping, once, as I slept until I felt a sturdy arm snake comfortingly around my waist. "Why are you crying, Danielle?" Tom asked as he situated himself beside me upon the mattress.

I blinked. "What do you mean? I am not-" He took my hand in his own and lifted my finger to brush against my cheek. My skin was damp and warm. "Oh." He drew me closer and held me until I had fallen asleep. If I had known better, at the time, I might have reflected upon it as romantic. But I did not want to believe that it was, lest I became hopeful and my heart break.

-

The day finally dawned when we were to depart for Hogwarts. It was a gloriously sunny morning, with wispy hints of cloud and a gentle breeze. _Flying weather_, it was observed. I paled noticeably when he informed me of our method of travel.

"We will be seen!" I protested. "There is not room for the both of our trunks!"

"We will not be seen," he promised as he grinned wickedly. He was fully aware that my fear of heights had not _entirely_ left me.

I sighed. "Tom, there is nothing to cover us!" I frantically gestured to what would have been sky if we had not been indoors. "There is not a cloud!"

His grin widened, and his eyes flickered to a patch of silver lying crumpled beneath my pillow. "What...?" I breathed.

He inspected his nails, all the while eyeing me with peculiar satisfaction. "Consider it to be a very early birthday gift."

I gasped as I withdrew the shimmering fabric and began to examine it. "Tom, this is... Oh..." I admired the invisibility cloak lovingly. The material easily slid about in my palm, causing it to vanish. "Where did you find such a thing?"

But his only reply was, "I have been saving it for you." I threw my arms around his neck in an embrace. If he was surprised, he said nothing of it, which was his way. "I am glad that you like it. But we must soon depart..." I murmured an awed whisper of gratitude as I mounted the _Tinderblast_. I then draped the cloak over us and secured it to the broom with small ties.

Our first stop was Diagon Alley. There, we purchased our supplies–letters had been sent to us earlier than usual, as they were expecting our arrival. Tom also gave to me an ice cream cone. I wondered how, if he had lived at an orphanage so long, he had gotten such a large sum of money stashed away. I did not dare ask him, for that would have been meddling in his private affairs–what was I to know that they could one day become my own? But along with the mysterious appearance of hundreds of galleons, it utterly befuddled me as to why he showered me in so many costly surprises. I thought, at first, that he perhaps felt obligated to do so, on account for us having to stay at the orphanage. Though, as time progressed, that answer became less and less likely. Tom would not have tried to ensure our friendship by _bribery_, or anything such as that. He knew that I could not be bought. It would be long ere I truly knew.

Our second and final stop was our original destination of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was an odd feeling to know that the entire castle was deserted, save for us, Professor Dippet, and Hagrid–though he dwelled in a hut at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. And after settling my trunk in the Ravenclaw common room, that was the first place that I went. I did not tell Tom–though he most likely guessed–where I was going, for I was aware that he would not be eager to face the young giant he had gotten expelled. And judging by that, the feeling was undoubtedly mutual.

I knocked politely on the newly-appointed gamekeeper's wooden door. It opened a crack to reveal a set of familiar eyes, and the unfamiliar ones–as well as snout–of a small, energetic, boarhound pup. I blinked in surprise as the tiny animal barreled down the door–so to speak–and coated my face with a layer of spittle.

"Come, now, Fang," said a voice that sounded as though it were failing to seem cross.

I beamed. "Hello, Hagrid."


	17. Divination

**Chapter Seventeen:  
Divination**

After that summer had passed, the days began to blend together and go by in a grey blur. I attempted to force Tom to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team, but he flatly refused, informing me that he was _not_ going to make a fool of himself in front of the entire student body, and that he did not need anything else to occupy his time. I protested at that, for he surely would not be all that bad, but nothing would persuade him. He told me, with a malicious grin, that he would only agree to try out if _I_ did, but for Ravenclaw. I gulped and knew that I was beaten.

My sixth year was hardly significant in any way. Nothing changed, save the curriculum, and that was no challenge to me. Of course, I _had_ received a bit of extra help: Tom and I had studied more complicated spells and potions during our month-long stay at the castle, mastering nearly all of two thick books before the term began. That way, we would have more time to relax, as well as time to meet in the far corners of the library and talk, as friends do. He told me more of his stays at the orphanage before he was aware of his wizarding abilities, how wistfully he longed to know the face of his mother, and he described his hatred for his muggle father. In turn, I talked of my past at the Augurey Academy of Spellcraft. Tom found the name amusing, but was curious as to why a school with that name was located in America.

"What is America like?" he once asked.

"It is nothing much different than Britain or Scotland, but here, it is much more... _refined_," I explained with a giggle. In truth, I remembered little about the country of my birth save that I did not much like it, and had secretly been overjoyed to leave it forever.

-

Divination was a subject that I surprisingly excelled at. Tom had found it to be a waste, but I had always enjoyed it. Until, that is, I began to see omens.

It was the morning we began reading tea leaves. I stared, glassy-eyed, into the teacup that trembled in my hands. I had never seen such an arrangement of dregs before, and never one so distinct. It was frightening at the same time that it fascinated me. Unsipped tea oozed from the piles of green, giving it the effect that it glowed. The divination teacher at the time clutched at her heart, emitting short gasps as she backed away in fear. Staring at me from the bottom of my cup was a skull encircled by a serpent that protruded from its mouth.

I flipped frantically through the nearest guide to tea-leaf-readings, searching for that symbol, or one even remotely similar to it. But it was in vain. I had Seen something that was not supposed to exist.

That symbol, that _dark mark_ of evil, haunted me. I Saw it each time I was asked to read my own dregs, and my suspicions began to arise. But that mark was not all that I ever Saw.

I gazed into a foggy, crystal orb, stroking its spherical surface. Unblinking, I waited for a shape to form in its depths. And suddenly, something began to appear.

I Saw but mere wisps of figures at first, but they soon grew more defined so that the scenes that played before my eyes were unmistakable. And I was suddenly engulfed in them.

_Flames licked greedily at the thatched roofs of feeble, muggle homes, the soundless cries of the dying piercing through the night. Frightened children wept tears of loneliness in the abandoned streets and alleyways. A lone, hooded figure stood amidst the rubble, laughing, a wand clutched in its scaly grasp-_

I gasped as the scene shifted.

_A gate creaked open to admit a cloaked stranger to the front walk of a cottage. The being crept silently to the door and blasted it open with a flick from its wand. A man attempted to block his entry as he shouted into the adjoining room. "Lily!"_

_A flash of green light._

_The man lay dead, and the same cruel laughter radiated from the dark figure-_

The images continued.

_A smally, skinny boy was being forced into a cupboard..._

_The same boy thrusting an enormous fang into the very heart of a familiar-looking black book..._

_The boy bound to a tombstone as a shape emerged from the swirling confines of a cauldron-_

I wept as I watched the boy's life progress in flashes, sometimes shattered by images of myself and Tom. Images that I was not yet ready to see, ones that I believed impossible. I pried my eyes from them, blinded by my own tears, and in my haste to escape, I upended the table at which I sat, sending the mystic orb rolling at my heels.

I cared not to where I ran, nor did I care if I was seen. Vain attempts to stop me merely glanced by and reached not to my ears. The corridors before me blurred. I continued on until my legs screamed in protest and agony, and I collapsed in a heap when I could run no more. Only then did I realize where I was.

"Danielle? What're yeh..."

"Hagrid!" I cried tearfully, breathless. "Please, may I... may I... come inside?"

The giant gaped at me worriedly, seeming to forget himself. Then he shook his head to regain his thoughts. "Yeah... yeah..."

I struggled to stand. Hagrid grasped my shoulders to support my weight, steering me through the doorway.

His home was but a small one-room hut built of wood, brick, and stone. In one corner sat an over-sized bed, in another, a tall wooden table and four chairs, all with elongated legs. I stared in spite of myself, though I attempted to shut my open mouth, so in shock was I. "Y-you _live_ here?" I stuttered as he led me to one of the chairs and firmly sat me into it.

He shrugged. "Isn' much..."

"Hagrid! You should be—could you not live inside of the castle!"

He bustled about to pour boiling liquid from a plain red tea kettle into two large china cups. "Tea?"

I recoiled and shuddered, terrified of what I might find in the dregs. "N-no thank you." Hagrid regarded me curiously, but left the second mug where it had been filled. He patted my shoulder awkwardly ere he pulled out the chair beside me.

"Now," he began gruffly, "Ye've got ter tell me... _why_'re yeh...?" He threw his hands helplessly.

I described to him what had happened. As I spoke, his expression changed from a pained look to one of fear. "I have got the Sight, Hagrid. A-and I think... I have Seen something I was not supposed to..."


	18. Confessions

**Author's Notes: **When I originally posted this chapter, I was quite concerned about the response it would receive. Thankfully, the reviews were all positive, so it is my sincere hope that you will find this as they did. And thank you for all of the reviews that you have been leaving.

**Chapter Eighteen:  
Confessions**

I grew skittish as weeks passed, more so when Tom was near. I tended to avoid being close as often as I could, though it nearly broke my heart to do so, and found comfort in Hagrid, whom I took to visiting each day. It pained me to no end that Tom knew of the time I spent with the young gamekeeper, yet in turn, I hardly spoke to _him_. The dreadfully hurt look upon his face whenever we encountered one another made me feel loathing toward myself, for I longed to explain my actions, but what I had Seen continued to haunt me, and so I could not.

And then the day came, the day I knew was bound to come, one I had come to dread, the day when my lack of the ability to speak at the appropriate moments, finally took its toll. Tom began to take an interest in other Slytherins—girls—ones who had more beauty at sixteen than I could ever have hoped to graze in my lifetime. They were remarkably sensitive at first, knowing that I was often seen with him in the library.

"What about _her_?" they would ask, their eyes flickering to where I sat, and glancing away when I met their gaze.

Tom would glance at me coldly before withdrawing his piercing eyes from me. "_Her_?" he would repeat with a voice laden with venom. "Why should I care what _she_ thinks? She matters not to me." With tear-stained cheeks I would turn away and bury my nose into a book, the heavy parchment pages deadening my sobs. The girl would laugh with relief and oft times poke a jest at me, thinking that I could not hear. They seemed not to realize that my ears were not stuffed with cotton, and that I could never be in the least bit ignorant to them.

And so I relied once more upon my studies to keep me progressing forward, though even that was not enough. It was true that I had learned, through the years, to mask my love to keep him oblivious, and yet I had not learned to destroy it (for many times I wished that I could). I allowed myself to slip below—though only just—my average marks, pushing Tom to the top of our year. At the time, it was as if I knew the precise things that he would miss, if any, and would attempt to score as high as possible without passing his marks. I was nearly always correct in my estimates, receiving at most two points less than he. It was only once that I was wrong.

"Exam grades today, class," announced the Potions Master of the time. I sighed to myself, fully aware that whatever I had learned, I could have surpassed easily. He stalked between the rows, handing back papers to their terrified recipients. "Parmellie..." He shuffled through the scored exams and handed one to me from near the centre. "Top marks, well done."

I stared numbly at what had been returned to me. Top marks? It meant that I had out-scored Tom.

"Riddle," I heard him say, "Very surprising, I would have expected better from you... Hornby, fair marks..."

I swallowed. From the silent fashion in which he had accepted such low marks, and the satisfied smile twisting at his upper lip when he glanced at me, I realized that he had guessed of my plan. I supposed that I had made my intentions terribly and entirely too obvious, and that in his brilliance, he was bound to come across a conclusion for my behavior. My reaction had been enough to confirm it, though he still remained puzzled as to why I had done so, sacrificing a great deal, and seemingly for his sake.

As the bell tolled that signaled the beginning of our final meal for the day, I packed my belongings quickly, exiting the classroom before the remaining students had noticed that they were permitted to leave. I had not, of course, taken into account that I would perhaps be followed.

It was only when I neared a secluded corner when I perceived the echo of footsteps behind me. I quickened my pace and glanced over my shoulder, though I saw no one; the corridor was deserted, or nearly so, for students and staff alike had begun their trek to the Great Hall. However, with another darted look behind me, my follower failed to conceal himself in time. It was Tom.

My mind raced. I was not prepared to—nor did I wish to—speak with him. I knew that his sprint was much faster than mine to a point that he could overtake me in seconds if I ran, so I deemed that the only escape would be to outwit him. But it was not to be.

"Danielle!" I heard him call, as if his voice alone could stop me. I acted as though I had not heard him. "Danie- Please... wait!" I should have anticipated his next move, but in my haste I had not thought of it. "Bloody... IMPEDIMENTA!" he bellowed, freezing my legs. I swore silently as he came at a jog to where I stood. He soon muttered the counter-curse and I regained the use of my legs. He stuffed the wand into its place in the pocket of his robe. Then he rounded on me, his eyes flashing. "What was that, Danielle! It is most _obvious_ that you can do much better than you have been on the exams, yet you choose not to! Why is that! What are you _doing_, Danielle!" He grasped my shoulders as if to prevent me from attempting escape. I firmly held my ground, though my heart fluttered in panic. "And why is it that you do not speak to me! Why have you suddenly avoided me! Tell me what it is that I have done!"

I wrenched myself from his grip, choking on the saltiness of my tears. "Do you not understand!" I sobbed furiously, briefly biting down upon the inside of my cheek. "It is because _I love you_, Tom!"

A stunned silence lay between us. I glared at him defiantly, as if daring him to laugh. He blinked, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. "What?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I said," I trembled, "It is because I love you!" He moved his hand as if to touch my shoulder, but I brushed it away. "And I always have, ever since we met!" I choked out an incoherent explanation of what I had Seen in Divination, all the while clenching my fists, digging my nails into my palm. "I n-never wanted to lose you to anyone! I could not bear to think of you with someone else, but I knew that you would never... f-feel the same!" I sobbed.

"Danielle..." his voice was laden with emotion. He was so close, we were nearly touching. "How could you possibly know how I feel?" He lifted his fingers up to stroke my cheek. I followed the length of his arm with my gaze until I reached his eyes.

And suddenly, we were kissing.

He ran his hands through my hair, my arms thrown around his neck. I had pinned him against the wall of the corridor, though it seemed that our passion was not to be contained. Two -and-a-half years of pent-up emotion let itself run free, released from the confines of my heart.

Tom shifted a hair's breadth to one side, when a hidden doorway was opened, triggered by his sudden change of position. We staggered through it, his lips never leaving mine, until we fell upon something that felt unmistakably like a mattress.

-

I lay in his arms, against his bare chest, our ragged breaths synchronized as one. My shirt lay some place where Tom had cast it aside—though that was the only garment I had allowed him to remove. (Although impassioned, we still had our wits about us.)

He caressed my skin tenderly as he spoke, his voice hoarse. "Marry me, Danielle..."

"What?" I asked, awed, and I waited for him to continue.

"It could be a secret for now, a promise. When we complete our schooling, we can be wed!"

My heart nearly exploded with joy, but I remained cautious, if only to tease. "But what about... well, you mentioned settling down, dropping hints about someone..."

"Oh, Danielle!" he whispered exasperatedly. "Do you still doubt me? Every time, that 'someone' was _you_!"

A tear escaped my eye and pooled upon his arm. "I have never doubted you, Tom." I turned so that I faced him, and we kissed once more.

With that, I was engaged, in secret, to become the future wife of Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	19. Warning and Conflict

**Chapter Nineteen:  
Warning and Conflict**

Albus' eyes glitter with mirth, the flesh surrounding them crinkling into crow's feet. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, twirling a silver strand about his thumb. "I did not know," he begins, "that you became engaged whilst still within these walls."

I nod. "We swore for it to be kept secret."

He tilts his head slightly forward. "Well done, keeping it from the staff, even as Head Boy and Girl."

I smile modestly and cast my gaze downward. "I was so happy to have that between us," I admit. "Surely you, Albus, noticed something..."

He gazes into his now-empty tea cup as if into a Pensieve, suddenly deeply engrossed in a pool of thoughts. I watch him with interest as a wave containing a multitude of memories appears to wash upon his features, changing them from joy to sorrow. Then he smiles.

"Yes, I did. You had lightened in spirit, I recall now. However, at the time, my observations had rather befuddled me, I must admit."

I shift uncomfortably and place my cup upon a vacant table beside me, its contents grown cold. I no longer fear the cryptic dregs as I once did, for I now know that they can no longer warn me of what dangers are to come. There is nothing left that I may wait for, nothing to anticipate with hope or dread in the future. Nearly everything I have loved has been taken from me.

I feel a hot tear escape and trail down my cheek ere I can stop it.

"Ms. Riddle?"

"Albus... I would like to continue, but at the Ministry, if you do not mind. I—I cannot bear to be here any longer," I softly beseech.

He nods as though he can understand, as if he can fathom what it feels to lose so much, to be so alone. With a turn, he is gone, and moments later, I Apparate after him.

-

It proved difficult for our affection for one another to remain hidden. It pained us to be apart, yet we could not reveal to our peers that we had become more than simply friends. They still thought me not to be a worthwhile companion, but what that had once been subtle taunts subsided into the usual silence. Though it was not as if I needed them. Hagrid and Tom, I thought, would forever be all that I could need or want.

I informed Hagrid of the engagement of Tom and I soon after. I asked, first, for I did not wish to upset my fiancé, and though he agreed, I could sense his reluctance. "If you must," he had sighed. After a quick kiss, I had bounced across the grounds and knocked persistently at the door of Hagrid's hut.

I listened for an answer, but I was only met by Fang's yips.

Then, "I'm ou' back!"

I laughed as I traipsed to the carefully tended pumpkin patch behind his hut. "There you are! You had me worried!"

He beamed and thrust the shovel he had been using into a mound of fresh, damp soil. Wiping his forehead of perspiration, he said, "Well, yeh know, with Halloween comin' an' all, I got summat ter do..." He motioned with a flourished wave to the enormous gourds which lay daintily upon the patch, each extending from curling tendrils of vine that protruded from the ground.

My eyes widened and I gasped. "They are lovely!" I exclaimed. "You would not need any assistance with them at all, would you?"

The giant chuckled. "I s'pose not... but, eh..."

My face fell.

"But if yeh wanted ter help, I s'pose yeh could do summat."

I grinned. "Oh, but I would not want to be a burden-"

"'Ere." He set a watering can into my grasp. "Jus' a bit fer each one."

Though the sky was laden thickly with clouds, it was well past midday when at last Hagrid was satisfied and deemed we were through for the time-being. I began to tidy up the excess moisture with my wand while Hagrid rested his chin upon the handle of a shovel.

"Somethin's diff'ren' 'bout yeh, Danielle. Riddle hasn' done summat ter yeh, 'as 'e?" He gazed at me curiously through a wild mass of hair and tiny, beetle-like eyes.

I stiffened, though I was unsure why I had done so. "Ah, well—about Tom. We are engaged." It felt as if an immense weight had been lifted from my chest as I said it, so relieved did I feel that someone at last knew. But it would not last.

"ENGAGED?" Hagrid thundered.

"Welll, yes-" I stammered, startled at his reaction. It had not occurred to me that he would not perhaps seem as happy as I.

"Engaged, Danielle, engaged? Blimey, yer only sixteen!" He ran a massive hand flusteredly through his tangles of hair. "What're yeh doin', gettin' engaged?"

"What do you mean, Hagrid?" I asked. "Why should I not? I am aware that you dislike Tom, but really-"

"I'm sayin', yeh should wait! Give yer life a chance 'fore yeh go makin' commitments!"

I sniffed angrily. "I will love Tom Riddle until the day I die, and I do not plan upon spending my life with anyone else!"

He shook his great head sadly. "That's what yeh think now, bu'-"

"-and that's what I will think forever!" I interrupted. Rage boiled inside of my chest, filling me with its power. How could he not seem to comprehend what was most obvious? How could he not simply wish me well? At the time, I did not realize it, for it was I who did not understand. Blinded, I was, by my love, and so I could not see sense in the words of my friend. I had not put into thought any of the consequences which were bound to arise from such an early decision.

But I _had_ told Hagrid the truth. There would never have been another I could have even imagined loving as much as I loved Tom. He had been kind to me when I had been shunned by all others around me and so had captured my heart. And I knew that he loved me, he had told me so. For there was no feigning the look in his eyes each time they set upon me, that I was assured of. He trusted me, even enough to allow me in to the Chamber. He had granted me the gift of Parseltongue, come to me for sanctuary in his hours of greatest need. Surely, it had not been a mistake to agree to become his wife!

"You are wrong!" I sobbed out of frustration. "Why can you not accept the truth?"

He glanced at me, his expression pained. "I jus'- I jus' don' want fer anythin' ter happen ter yeh 'cause of it."

"Tom will let nothing happen! He is all I need to protect me!" I felt no guilt at that moment for my unfair words to the kind giant. Though he was merely concerned for my well-being, I was not ready to accept the possibility that there would be any reason to heed his cautions.

"Good day, Hagrid," I spat curtly, and I swiveled, sullenly retreating to the castle.

"I jus' want yeh ter be careful," I heard him whisper forlornly, and immediately wished that I hadn't.


	20. The Forgotten Memory

**Chapter Twenty: **

**The Forgotten Memory**

I ran through the entryway of the caste, only breaking into a sprint when I was assured that Hagrid was no longer watching. However, as I made my way up the steps of the first grand staircase that was to be spotted, I felt something grasp me about the middle and pull me to one side.

"That step is farce, Danielle," Tom chuckled. Yet he must have spotted the blotchiness of my cheeks, for his expression suddenly fell into one of concern. "Are you alright?"

I shrugged, unable to distinguish how I felt at the time. Tom pulled me close and I sank into his chest, sighing, his heart fluttering against my head.

"Hagrid... thought that we have been rushing things," I finally choked. Glancing at him for a moment and unburying my face, I saw a look of anger mingled with sadness. A snarl twisted his mouth. It was the first time I had seen him do such—and with so much malice—and it startled me. Without thought, I brought my hand to his lips, causing them to relax.

He murmured an apology, yet his gaze was transfixed upon me. "But do you believe that is so?" he inquired softly.

I shook my head with vigor. "No, of course not. How can you even ask such a thing?"

Tom caressed my back soothingly, his breath tickling a few blonde strands from atop my head. "Forgive me, I thought as much."

-

"Ah, Ms. Riddle," Albus interjects." I do not wish for this to become merely an interrogation of sorts, but-"

"Ask what you must. I have agreed to serve the Order by any means possible," I tell him curtly.

"Very well." He brings before us a basin filled with smoky liquid. Mist seems to radiate in slowly-curving tendrils from its depths. I eye it with a hint of a smile curling at the corner of my lips.

Albus entwines his gnarled fingers in his lap. "Did there ever come times when, ah, _Tom_, would leave without first supplying an explanation? Sudden disappearances, perhaps?"

I narrow my eyes and furrow my brow deeply. "Of course," I retort, attempting to mask my confusion. "We could not always be aware of and control each other's doings. If you do not mind, I must inquire as to why you have asked me this. What is it precisely that you wish to know, Albus?"

He arches a single white eyebrow admiringly. Never has he been a fool, nor will he ever become one; yet neither will I. For I have been a fool, I realize that it has been so. Though through my foolishness, I have been taught well.

"I have acquired a memory, Ms. Riddle, as well as delved deeply for information—a hobby of mine, it seems. I believe you are aware of the murders of Tom Riddle Sr. and that of his parents," he explains slowly.

I chew at the edge of my weathered lip, anxiety beginning to form in anticipation of what that he may query of me. Sighing, I nod.

"And you know, I presume, that it was Tom Riddle himself whom committed them."

My breath catches in my throat, my mouth parted to speak, and yet no answer emerges from them. My mind races, though all I can accomplish is a slight nod.

Then I smile, though it is hardly an expression of warmth; it is a smile that is but a slight upturning of my lips, from the edges dripping hints of irony in some form that I do not know. "I remember nothing of it, Albus, for he neglected to inform me of such things."

"Ah, but Ms. Riddle, I have reason to believe that with a bit of persuasion, we can succeed in coaxing it back into your recollection."

I open my mouth to protest, but Albus raises a knotted hand, and I swallow my disbelief.

"I am accusing you of nothing, merely reminding you that our past can sometimes be a bit elusive. Now, if you please?" He gestures to the stone basin.

I sigh, seeming to slip once more into the mind of my sixteen-years-of-age self. I close my eyes and strain to remember, my weakened heart thudding dully in my ears. I wish nothing more than to disappear and become lost in my past, though it nearly feels as if I am. Albus, I know, has sensed the change, and yet he does not realize why I have done so. And thus, he is curt, tiring of my newly-found charade.

I bring the tip of my wand to touch a point near my temple, and draw from it a silvery strand of which I release into the Pensieve. An image ripples upon its surface, and into it, we become immersed.

-

It was late—nearly midnight—that night, but I felt not a bit of weariness. The orphanage had long-since fallen silent, and as I lay awake upon my cot, I heard but the gentle purr of crickets through the walls. Our room was shadowed in darkness, though I could sense Tom's absence, and it worried me. He would never have left me alone in that horrid place, I was sure, and yet that seemed to be precisely what he had done. At the time, it was so unlike him.

I strained to catch the subtle creak of an opening door, or the gentle padding of feet upon the wooden planks, but it seemed to be for naught. So long, I waited, and thus, I had nearly given up all hope of his return, when at last, I heard the front lock click. I sprung from my cot and thrust upon the door, running as quietly as possible toward him.

"Tom!" I whispered, my tone laden with less anger than I had wished it to be. "Where have you been? I was so worried!"

But he spoke not a word, and I squinted at his face in the blackness. "Tom, are you alright?"

His expression was gaunt, what little I could make of his eyes were haunted. His posture was stiff, and his arms hung limply at his sides. Mussed was his dark hair, as was his garb, nearly as though sort of mad struggle had occurred. His hands quivering, he brought them silently before his eyes, examining them, and at the corners of his lips curled the ghost of a sneer, a cruel smile that twisted his features grotesquely. It was as though I had donned my cloak and had spoken not a word to him since his arrival.

He suddenly broke into a wide grin, though it contained not a bit of pleasured emotion. There came a gurgle from deep in his throat, and in but a moment, it rumbled and turned to laughter. "The fools!" he hissed in ill amusement. "Filthy muggles, pitiful excuses for human beings, they were! They thought to defy me, to leave me, and now..." He cackled triumphantly, oft times gasping for breath.

"Tom, what have you done?" I shrieked, disregarding the intensity of my voice.

He turned to me, finally, still smiling, though his eyes glinted madly in the darkness. "I have given them what they have so rightfully earned."

"_Who_, Tom? And what have you done to them?" I inquired fearfully, gripping his arm with such a tightness I did not know I could have mustered.

He narrowed his eyes and smirked, shrugging off my grasp effortlessly. "Go to bed, Danielle. Do not worry your head with things that do not concern you."

-

The image dissipates once more into the Penseive from whence it had emerged. I tug thoughtfully at my lower lip, my eyes remaining transfixed upon the place in which my memory had formerly been displayed. "I had forgotten," I murmur softly, not only to Albus, but to myself. For upon further reflection, I realize that that night had been lost to me long ago, perhaps even before I consented to bewed Tom. It was as though something had forced the entire incident to be erased from memory, denial pushing it from my mind before it was presented the change to cause harm. It could have been of my own doing, or by another's will, for now it is impossible to know.

I shut my eyes lightly, yet deeply do I breathe in. Oft times I have wondered of the reason I had found to become his wife, and then, when I delve deeply into my past, I cherish each moment that we have shared together, and I remember what such times meant to me.

A small smile twists its way upon my face. Even though Tom has left me, the words which I once spoke to Hagrid remain true.

_I will love Tom Riddle until the day I die..._


	21. When the Sky Falls

**Chapter Twenty-one:  
When The Sky Falls**

"May I continue, Albus? If you have nothing further to ask of me at the moment, that is," I say quietly. The forgotten memory has disturbed me more deeply than he can possibly imagine, and I am eager to forget it once more. Though, I know that to hope for such things is foolish, for my mind will not allow these thoughts to leave any longer. I have learned through my many years of life that it is best to accept what has occurred in the past, for nothing can change it; it has been set in stone.

I tug at a lock of my hair, awaiting Albus' reply. At times, I wonder if what I have done was right. Even I do not always follow my own advice.

For most, I do not exist, though such has been accomplished by my own assent. I have been erased from the minds of many, and have appeared as but a name—no being to partner it—by others. It is a lonely life that I have come to live, and I do not intend for my time here to last much longer. For the few who remember me do not look upon my face with love or compassion as they once did. They despise me, save for Albus. Yet there is only so much an aged professor can do.

It was he who first suggested that I go into hiding. At the time, it had seemed the only option there would ever be, and so I agreed. Albus feared that Tom would come for me, to use me as he had so many others. I mirrored his concerns, then. Albus had always been a wise figure to me. Someone whom I could rely upon; trust. I find it ironic that I once thought these same things to be qualities of Tom. Perhaps this is why I do not think as highly of either of them any longer. I do not wish to be betrayed.

"Please, do," he tells me, and I part my lips to speak.

-

It seemed as soon as I had regained one friend, I had lost another. Never at concurrent times could I have them both—though in a different sense—and never could one accept what the other had done. _A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, how different they are_, I mused sadly.

Heavy droplets of rain pounded around me and the heels of my boots sunk slightly into the moistened ground. My hair hung limply to my shoulders, the tips curling slightly and disrupting the steady, trickling flow of water along the strands. Long before, I had shed my woolen cloak for one of invisibility, and although it kept me from being seen, it was far too thin to retain any warmth.

My knuckles seemed as white as the bone which lay beneath my flesh, so tightly I gripped the cloth about me; I shivered. I had not been able to escape until after nightfall, so by then the impending storm had already begun to arrive. It seemed worse than what I had imagined it to be. Gales of wind ripped and exposed my legs to its wrath. Yet I could not turn back, I knew, for I had come too far to have second thoughts, though even before the day had dawned my mind was firmly set. If Tom had been aware of such midnight wanderings, he surely would have stopped me from doing so alone, but I did not find it appropriate that he should know. Fiancé though he was, he could afford ignorance at times.

It was to become a daily routine, this journey across the grounds, though I had not yet realized it. I was to grow accustomed to the weather; whether the rays of the sun beat upon my back or total darkness pressed in about me, I would come sometimes once, oft times twice. Never at the same time but always to the same destination.

The grey-green blades of coarse autumn grass lay flat against the rich soil, sodden from the persistence of the rain. It mattered not their length, nor would it have mattered had I chosen to stamp my way through them; my chosen path could not be distinguished from that which surrounded it. It was as though I had never set foot there and never would so long as I remained unseen and the sky fell.

In my mind, I prepared what I was to say lest words helplessly tumble from my lips like fallen leaves, carried away by the wind. It would not do for me to blunder; at the time, I worried that it would be the only chance I would ever receive—though it was not as if it had been given to me. And I was not to fully know just how much I would come to regret the things I once said until much later, when I had learned the affect of which they had upon the recipient. For then, I had only focused my attention toward the present, not the chain-linked reaction to the future.

As I neared the hut which lay at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, I froze. What precisely _was_ I to say? What was there possibly to explain? What had occurred had been stated; it was now obvious. Suddenly, I felt foolish. There seemed to be nothing logical that I could do, yet it was too late. My hand was held in a ball, poised mere centimeters from the door. How I had reached it so quickly I did not know; my limbs felt as though they had begun to operate of their own accord.

The sound created as I timidly rapped upon the wood briefly brought to mind the somber peals of muggle church bells, crying out for those that are doomed to die. I listened for a moment, pressing my ear to the spot where I had knocked, yet there came no reply. I glanced at the sole window which bedecked the hut and found it dark. The curtains had been drawn, no glow of light to be seen through them. I sighed, thinking that perhaps he was abed at such an hour, yet knowing, deep inside the epitome of my heart that this could not be true. For the pup was gone, the crossbow as well. The latter, for as long as I could recall, had always leant against the wall nearest the garden hose.

Defeated, I turned from the hut's protection and into the force of the gale, allowing air and water alike to thrash at my skin. And as I breathed in deeply the misty silence which had befallen the grounds, I glanced at the patch where the pumpkins had been lain. The ones which I had planted so carefully had been destroyed. A single tear fell from my eye and melded with the rain.

That night, sleep eluded me. Instead of returning to the Ravenclaw Tower, I aimlessly wandered through the very-most outskirts of the Forest, knowing that if I was to lose my way, I would not be rescued as I had before. And though the tangle of brush hid me well enough, the Invisibility cloak I still kept tightly to me. At such times, I did not fear the many creatures which roamed throughout the trees; my mind had grown overloaded with an abundance of emotions, the cloak merely a way to protect me from them. It was as if what I felt overpowered me to an extent that I could feel nothing, see nothing, yet hear all the voices in the world as one. They taunted and pitied, encouraged and loathed me, abusing the final bits of happiness which clung desperately to my soul as I trudged on. I was void of thoughts.

The rain could not as easily reach me through the scattered canopy of branches above. They protected me as thought I belonged to the Forest, ushering me into my woodland home with the care of a mother hen. If I imagined long enough, I could nearly have thought the trees sought to comfort me in an ancient way of their own. I longed to believe, as my mind began to clear, that such foolish ideas could prove true.

Yet, if there was one thing which I required, it was to be embraced; held in the arms of my beloved. At the time, I was still vulnerable to such girlish fantasies that believed Tom had the ability to make every wrong right itself, and heal each small fracture to my heart.

If only these ideas were not farce.

I cast aside the cloak, tiring of the hindrance that it had become. I did not care that I would surely grow chilled to the very marrow of my bones, not did I give much thought to my actions thereafter. Perhaps it was for the fact that I did not realize just how utterly exhausted I was that I continued on so carelessly. Perhaps it was because Hagrid's absence had distressed me far greater than I could have imagined. Either way, I paid no heed to my surroundings.

Suddenly, I heard the subtle snapping of a twig, the sound muffled by layers upon layers of dead leaves. For a moment, I thought that I had imagined it, as soon after, the forest was silent. I paused with my foot half turned, glancing warily over my shoulder to be assured that I was alone. My heart pounded with an unnatural force; the dripping from the branches had ceased, or were otherwise not of enough volume to rise above the resonating beats within my chest. I did not call out lest my presence had not yet been detected.

"Do not be frightened, young foal," a soothing voice murmured. Automatically, I told it that I was not afraid.

"Who are you?" I queried, more curious than anything else. The words had barely escaped my lips when a figure emerged from the trees; I gasped.

At first glance, it seemed human; a man of sorts, yet not quite so. Darkness shadowed all but his torso, slices of moonlight glinting in his eyes as though they glowed. "The stars are shrouded this night," he said. "The future is hidden."

I nodded, unsure, though I realized at once what this creature was.

The centaur stepped forward just as a passing cloud shifted once more to cloak the moon, engulfing us in darkness. I could hear the gentle swish of his tail swaying back and force in sync to the rhythm of the wind. Never before had I encountered such a creature, and I was at a loss for words as for what to say to him. I longed to ask why he had ventured so far from the heart of the forest, yet I supposed that I would not receive an answer—or he would be otherwise insulted.

"The future?" I offered after a moment of hesitation.

"Yes."

I sighed. "I cannot say I know much of the future. Divination is not something which interests me any longer."

He pawed at the ground, chortling. "Disinterest, or whatever it is you wish to call it, will not allow you to escape. You must know this. A third eye, so rare in the human kind, is not so easily avoidable as that. It has been written in the heavens."

"How is it you know this?" I asked. "There are no stars this night."

He shifted, his hooves pressing deeply into the soil. The moon had at last been unveiled for a moment, thus enabling me to gaze upon him in full. I did so in awe. His face was pointed, framed by raven locks, each flawlessly placed as though help upon him by magic. The hairs which covered his horse-like body consisted of a softer tone, a smoke-enveloped charcoal.

"The rain," he gestured to the sky above, " was not due to arrive until tomorrow. Remember this, Danielle Parmellie. The stars have not been known to often deceive us. Let us hope their meaning can be changed."

His statement befuddled me. I recalled that Hagrid had once mentioned the elusiveness of centaurs, advising me against believing what riddles they were sure to tell. Although, I had not yet decided whether to heed his advice. While Hagrid was far from being a simpleton, he could not perceive things as I could. Surely I, at the head of my year, would have the ability to decipher such a code.

At the time, I took my intellect for granted.

"Someone approaches, young foal. Return to Hogwarts where you are safe for the time-being." He stamped uneasily. "I must leave you now."

I felt as though I had been struck dumb, unable to voice the many questions which skittered about my mind. And so it was in silence that I watched him fade into the trees from whence he had come, a shattered twig and soft imprints upon the dirt the only evidence of our encounter. And soon, they too had disappeared, marred by the steady fall of moisture, falling as though the sky itself had decided to give way and collapse upon me.

-

I awaited the intruder from beneath the folds of my invisibility cloak. I had no reason to return to the castle just yet, for I would only be plagued by nightmares if I did so. Minutes passed, and I began to suspect that the centaur had been mistaken, though I could not imagine why this would be. Perhaps the clouded sky had given him clouded thoughts. However, suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and it gripped my shoulder tightly.

I let forth a shrill scream, the outburst piercing the night. I heard a small creature rustling through the brush beside me, startled.

Frantically, I grasped for my wand, and when I had found it, I whipped it out before me and cried, "_Lumos_!"

"Danielle," a voice hissed. A voice which I had come to know nearly better than the path by which I traveled to Charms.

"Tom?"


	22. The Bridge Crossed

**Chapter Twenty-Two:  
The Bridge Crossed**

"Of course," he whispered, his voice laden with annoyance. I bit my lip to cease its trembling, for it was not he whom I had expected. To be frank, I had been startled from my wits. Tom's eyes seemed stony to me, although I found it odd that I could discern their hue in the darkness which surrounded us.

"You should not be wandering about at night, Danielle. And out of bounds, no less!" He gazed at me with such a sternness that I laughed.

"That means naught to me, Tom Riddle. Are you prepared to heed your own advice?" For a moment, he seemed stunned, though he soon recovered.

"It is different," he replied, not meeting my gaze.

"How is that?" I placed my hand gently upon his arm in a gesture of comfort.

"It is different... under the given circumstances–"

"_What_ circumstances, Tom? What gives you alone the right to disregard the rules of Hogwarts?" My complexion was flushed, and I silently thanked the night for its cloaking grace. I had not prepared for such an argument; had not hoped for one so soon into our engagement.

"You know perfectly well," he hissed.

I gasped, realization dawning upon my mind. "You cannot possibly mean–that does not–"

"There are things that must be done." His statement, so coldly spoken, installed a sense of dread into my heart as though it had pierced flesh and bone to reach it. Tom's face was grim; a Grim himself that stormy morn. Shakily, I drew breath and exhaled a small cloud, nearly transparent against the air, as though a ghost had escaped my lips. The atmosphere suddenly had grown far more chilled than it had before, and I shivered.

"And have you accomplished these things, Tom?" I queried softly.

"Not nearly enough." A sort of wild passion had come across his features, twisting his thin lips into a wretched smile. And for a moment, I wondered who this being before me could be, for it most certainly was not the Tom I had known.

I echoed his statement curiously. He furrowed his brow as if he were greatly troubled by his thoughts, the spoke. "If you wish... I can show you."

My eyes widened, and I nodded, words escaping me. At the time, it was a befuddling offer. What ever if was he had kept hidden withing the Forest, it could not have been greatly important–or so I believed–for it was exposed there to an assortment of beasts. Magic could keep such creatures at bay for only so long before their prize was consumed.

I knew that I was to follow him, though no words had further passed between us. It was as if a connection had been formed within our minds, linking our thoughts. It was a somewhat magical something, though I did not realize its significance until much later.

We trailed though the forest–I one step behind for the path was narrow–so long I feared that when we were to return, the sun would be emerging above the horizon, and we would surely be expelled. I could not bear even the thought of it, so attempted to force it from my mind. Had I not succumbed to curiosity, and had I not felt a certain, undescribable loyalty to Tom, I surely would have turned and fled, regretting the fact that I had ever left my bed the day prior.

Suddenly, he paused, nearly causing me to fall against him, as it was so abrupt that I had not prepared for it. To my astonishment, we did not seem to be at a location of any significance; on the contrary, I could not _visually_ detect anything different from the trees we had passed a quarter hour before. Yet even so, it _felt_ nothing similar, as its plainness disguised any varying characteristics which I knew it had.

Tom regarded me smugly as I first stepped backward, then forward once more, and tested each side. The small patch of forest to which we had come was void of any magical restrictions.

"Figured it out, have you?" he asked. I nodded quietly. Everything had begun to fall into its proper place. Tom's disappearances, even after the Chamber of Secrets had been sealed, discovering him in the Forbidden Forest... It was simple.

"Where?"

He showed no surprise at my query. Instead, he looked triumphant, and his lips curled into a thin smile. "_M'lady_," he mocked, and offered his arm, which I grasped after a moment's hesitation. Humor or mockery, whichever it had been, had never foreshadowed of light-hearted events. And so as we stepped lightly and turned, I knew the plummeting sensation toiling in my stomach was not a result of my first Apparition experience.

-

At some point in the duration of three seconds, I had managed to clamp my eyes firmly shut, and when the cold, constricting rush suddenly ceased, and I opened them once more, I found that I could do nothing more than stare. We were in a cave of sorts, damp and chilled, and the ceilings dripped in a dull, methodic fashion. To one side, I could hear the gentle lapping of water against the rocks, though at that moment, I had not yet realized it was from the ocean. The stone beneath my feet had been worn smooth by the comings and goings to the tide, as had the enormous wall of rock before us. And as such, I soon found that the cave itself was nothing more than an outcropping less than four meters in diameter–though at first glance, it could have been mistaken for something much larger.

"What is this place?" I inquired softly, to both myself and Tom. The familiar feeling of air laden with magic had returned, though I could not distinguish precisely where it had been used. I turned to him with a hardened gaze to match his own.

He did not reply, for at that moment, a small rat emerged and darted about our feet. I did not fear such creatures as many did, for it was only that: a harmless animal. Yet all the same, I could not help but cry out in surprise. It had not seemed plausible that anything could dwell in that cave. In an instant, Tom had grasped the struggling rodent in his hand. "Danielle," he said, "I must ask you to look away." I obeyed, knowing nothing of the act he was to commit save for a burst of frightened squeaks, then resonating silence.

When I returned my gaze, I saw nothing of the rat, though Tom still had his wand outstretched, and I noticed a fresh stain of crimson upon the large rock which seemed perfectly rounded at the top, as if holding the shape of an archway.

And moments later, I found it to be precisely that.

An enormous doorway of sorts had appeared, as if it had been coaxed into existence by the offering of blood. It was a disgusting, even barbaric notion, though I feared its truth at the same time I respected it. No matter how repulsive it proved to be, the magic was most obviously of a complex branch, and in a demented way, was something to be admired. I wrinkled my nose at the sudden, watery stench which wafted through the opening.

"Impressive, is it not?" Tom asked proudly, cutting the silence. It was a moment before I noted as to what he had referred, though when I did, I could not suppress my astonishment.

We stood in the entryway of a cavern, though it could hardly be described as something so small, for even as I strained my eyes, I could not find the opposite wall. A voluminous lake lay in the center, its black waters still and undisturbed. Even if I had stepped to its edge and peered into its depths, I could not have perceived just how far it was to the bottom. And of course, I had not the desire to discover this fact first-hand. In the very middle, there seemed to be a small slab of rock only large enough for it to allow seven men to stand abreast. The chamber was bare of all other things.

"Where is this?" I asked once more. "And how did you discover it?" I knew that my voice, even before I spoke, would be heavily accented with disapproval. It was not as though I did not feel an immeasurable amount of awe for that which he had done, it was that such a place brought forth immediate memories of the Chamber of Secrets and what events had occurred because of its opening. Both shattered my spirit, this no exception. I began to despise the place before I had even entered it.

With a crazed look upon his handsome face, Tom commenced an explanation of what he had done and what plans he had made. There was a sense of pride and excitement which grew with each new idea he spoke until it seemed to suffocate us both. He told of the alliances he had formed within Hogwarts, and those outside of it; plans he had forged in the lonely time we had been apart. I listened in horror to the theory he had come across of splitting one's soul in parts and presenting them for all eternity. His eagerness in doing so. "We could hold the world in our grasp, Danielle. We could purge it from its tainted state and allow the magical realm to dominate once more!" He took my hand in his and looked at me expectantly. I pulled away.

"Listen to yourself!" I cried. "You speak of murder and purification as one! This is _madness_, Tom!"

Suddenly, his eyes flashed dangerously. "How can you say such things," he hissed, "after you have seen what the world has become? And do you not realize how great _we_ would become, you and I? Mudbloods, Muggles, Squibs–such filth is unworthy of life! And you defend them as though they are."

I clenched my teeth. "Murder is murder, no matter the ways you choose to look at it! You must put yourself above such foolishness, Tom, for I know you are!"

He spat in disgust. "You are becoming no better than a filthy Gryffindor, Danielle. I had thought you intelligent, worthy of my wife..." His lip curled into a sneer, and he at once stood, beginning to pace to and fro before me.

I was stung. The man whom I had loved had morphed once more into a brutal monster void of sanity, reason, and emotion. Tears leaked from my eyes as I thought upon this with pity and regret–regret that I had not yet changed him as I once thought I could. And soon, I too stood, and I strode to him briskly.

"Please," I beseeched shakily, and tenderly brought my lips to his. "Do not do this." I caressed his cheek sorrowfully for a moment, then broke away. "Please." I only hoped that my whisper would linger at his ear, for the bridge had been crossed, and I required time alone to think.


	23. The Severed Core

**Chapter Twenty-three:  
The Severed Core**

It was some time later that I came across an object about which I had entirely forgotten. Tom had not sought to find me, as I had hoped he would not, and in his absence I was able to consider in full all that had he had told me. Time had also, it seemed, granted me the opportunity to search the cave for anything further, as I believed there was yet much more to find. Ordinarily, I would not have cared to do so, for I did not enjoy meddling or exploring, and rarely partook in such things. Yet, for once, it seemed urgent that I go against my own code of being. At the same time, I feared Tom would not permit me to leave ever again, as I then knew many of his secrets; poking about would put my mind at ease until we were to confront it once more.

My efforts, at first, were fruitless; it had truly seemed as though the cavern held nothing more than the vast expanse of water within it. Many a time, I paused to question my actions. There seemed no purpose to them; nothing would return Tom and I to the way we had been, and there was nothing I longed for more. This fact was really what I was to distract myself from. And it was infuriating that I could not be rid of such selfish thoughts.

Distantly, I gazed at the glossy black surface of the lake; from my position upon a boulder at its head, I could see further than I had before, and the opposite wall became clear to me. So clear I discerned a small fissure upon its face. Even from where I was, I could see that it was cleanly–and unnaturally–cut. And so curious was I that I could not help but pick my way across the rocks to reach it.

Tom was somewhat of a perfectionist. No matter how natural or unnatural the crack was at first glance, it would have been sealed and erased if it held no importance. That I knew well, so was sure of.

I touched my fingers to its smoothed edges. Up close, it seemed to be more of an indentation than what I had originally thought it to be. And though it seemed strange, it told me one thing: it _had_ been hastily sealed with magic, and thus, the seal could be broken.

My hand dove into the folds of my robe and I withdrew my wand quickly from it. Its tip seemed to quiver as though in excitement from something invisible to me; ere I had even begun to move it toward the stone, it did so on its own. Tentatively, I let loose my grip, yet the wand was held erect to the crack.

I buffeted the opening with a multitude of spell, jinxes, and curses; all for naught, as everything remained the same. At first, I began to doubt my abilities and perceptiveness as a witch. Then, the thought that perhaps Tom had invented something crept slowly into my mind. As we had grown close, I had discovered his brilliance; brilliance that could be countered by none but Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts. My own wit fell short, for it could only go so long ere it failed.

And yet he had said nothing of what he did when he was alone. I still knew not all that he had done in the Chamber of Secrets, so how was I to know truly what he had formulated?

Then I was struck by another thought. The most intelligent of wizards would be, if desiring to open it, absorbed in the complexities. They would pay no mind to the most simple of things. What if all that was required was a simple password? Simple as an offering of blood had been. But what word? It was perhaps more puzzling to have a choice of words as opposed to a choice of spells. It perplexed me, though at that point, I began to enjoy the guessing game–for that was precisely what it was. _What word would the great Lord Voldemort use_, I mused, _Surely something as great as himself._

Or perhaps not.

On and on the riddle went, and as it progressed, the more complicated it became. It occurred to me that I did not know whether or not he spoke another language fluently–save for Parseltongue. The language of the snakes posed little problem; I still wore the locket Tom had given me in our fourth year around my neck, though I doubted that he knew. I hid it beneath my robes as a promise of our engagement–or perhaps as a reminder of what good there was to come once we graduated from Hogwarts.

So absorbed was I that I did not notice the footfalls approaching me, quickly and silently. "Danielle," Tom commanded from over my shoulder. The crack widened; the seal had been broken.

"Wonderful, is it not?" he murmured, "How simple things can come to be. But I am surprised at you, Danielle."

"And why is that?" I inquired coldly, and he smirked. "No one would expect their own name."

"Precisely so. Yet you said yourself that the great Lord Voldemort would use a thing only as great as himself. There is truth in your sarcasm."

The color drained from my face and I stared at him numbly. "What?"

"No, you did not hear wrongly. This cavern holds many secrets, perhaps more than the Chamber left to me by Salazar Slytherin. Though," he added with a crooked smile, "It is he, in part, who aided me in its creation. You, as well. Without you, it would have taken far longer to find this."

Tom, with a slight twitch of his wand, summoned an object from the crack which he had just unsealed. He presented it to me, and I gasped.

"Slytherin's wand," I murmured in disbelief. "Of course..." I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze, and as I did, he would not look away.

"Indeed. My gratitude to you is great, Danielle."

"But," I began, glancing at the wand once more. "The core has been removed. Or, at least... a part of it has."

"Also useful, and a sacrifice that had to be made. You must know that this is just the beginning, for my work is far from complete."

Unspoken phrases seemed to pass between us then, as we gazed at each other in silence. I knew not what to say aloud, and he seemed to be waiting for me to produce another question. Yet I had nothing more to add, and soon he seemed to realize this.

"If you are finished, I should like you to return the wand to its proper place." Tom muttered. Ere I had the chance to refuse or comply, he whisked it from my hands as he had put it into them, and the fissure closed upon it, sealing the treasure inside once more.

"Suppose I was not finished," I retorted under my breath. If he had heard me, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he turned to me expressionlessly.

"When we return, Danielle, you must speak of this to no one. Perhaps there is no one at the moment you would divulge this to, yet there will be. From your eyes I can tell that this visit was not entirely too rash on my part."

My heart leapt. He was to let me free after all! I exhaled a sigh.

Suddenly, without thought, I buried my head in his chest and cried softly. I could only imagine the taken-aback expression upon his face. "Danielle?"

"What has happened to the Tom I met in my fourth year?" I sniffed. "Where is the boy who helped me with my books and who stood beside me after Transfiguration one day?"

"That boy is gone." His arm around my waist, we Apparated away.


	24. Many Meetings

**Chapter Twenty-Four:  
Many Meetings**

"Albus," I say suddenly. "It must have slipped from my mind... I had not mentioned it, I do not think. Both Tom and I had been made Prefects in our fifth year. How strange that I had forgotten."

The wizened man smiles, the skin at the edges of his eyes crinkling. "I doubt that it is anything to fret. There were far greater things for you to tell."

I smile fondly, as though remembering. "Yes, you speak true. It would be of no importance for me to recount our nights patrolling the corridors. You must already know of that."

"Indeed I do. But let us not dwell upon it, for I did not ask you here to discuss my past. I'm afraid it would be a bore not worth enduring."

I laugh, gazing at the back of my roughened hand. "To you, perhaps. I, for one, would take much interest in hearing your tale. But perhaps another time, one less dire than this." A small smile lingers upon my lips, and I unconsciously rub my neck where the locket had once lain. "If you will allow me, I must skim ahead in my tale, for, as you may remember, there was nothing of much significance which occurred in the remainder of our sixth year. I'm afraid I may have lingered too much there already."

"On the contrary, Ms. Riddle, you may linger as long as you wish. I am here to listen to whatever you believe must be told."

I straighten my back upon that of the chair in which I sit. "Then I shall forge ahead."

-

Halloween passed, as did the Thanksgiving I had celebrated in America some years before. Autumn led to winter, bringing Christmas with its many flurries of snow. The castle was bedecked festively with garlands, fairies, and mistletoe, and the corridors echoed with many a carol sung by the students and ghosts. Tom and I were to stay for the holidays as we had always done, though there was but one difference in our usual routine. That year, we were obliged to attend a Christmas party, hosted by the Potions Master, Professor Slughorn. I had not wished to be present, as I knew no one but Tom, and those who I had been acquainted with would rather me not there. And yet, he convinced me all the same to accompany him—for it was not I who had received the invitation, thus allowing me an early departure. Tom was obliged to remain for the entirety of the celebration.

It was once again, that night, that I chose to visit Hagrid, and it was only for the fact that I knew I was guaranteed to be alone. The air was still, save for the occasional flake of snow which drifted lazily from the sky, and the winter birds had emerged to sing their melancholy tunes, even in the early darkness. I wrapped a scarf loosely about my neck and gloved my chilled fingers, shivering slightly. From whence I stood, I could discern a soft glow shining from the windows of the gamekeeper's hut. I could not bear for him to pass the holidays alone.

Boldly, I strode past the barren vegetable patch and raised my hand to knock upon the door. Thrice I tapped, timid at first, yet after receiving no reply, I rapped upon it loudly. "Hagrid, please!" I called.

As I raised my hand once more, the door was thrust open, a boy blocking all light from escaping his home. His expression seemed merry, but fell into a frown once spotting me.

"Danielle," Hagrid said gruffly. He stared at me for a moment, and then made to shut the door.

"Wait!" I flung out my hand to stop him. "Please, will you not listen to me?"

"Listen ter yeh? Listen ter what? Yeh can' say nothin' more ter me than yeh already 'ave."

I bit my lip. "I... I wanted to apologize. I should not have acted so harshly. I was... I was just so happy."

He sighed, and motioned me inside. I took my usual seat and began once more. "I realize how now that what you told me is true, and that perhaps I should have waited. But it is too late now, and I do not regret the decision I have made." I swallowed, wondering if I had been entirely truthful in my statement. After what I had seen, could I not sense the danger I was to put myself in? At the time, I was too blinded by my affections to realize much.

The young giant nodded slowly. "I figure'... I figured yeh wouldn'."

"I know you do not like Tom," I continued, "Not after what he did to you. And I am not asking you to. All I ask is for forgiveness, and that perhaps we might be friends again." I smiled. "I do miss the talks we used to have."

Suddenly, Hagrid's face split into a wide grin. "O' course! How cin I say no ter yeh? Yeh've done a righ' number on me, but I don' want ter stop yeh from..." He trailed off, and we embraced, friends once more.

"Happy Christmas, Hagrid."

-

The remainder of the winter holidays passed quickly by as though they had never begun. Tom and I resumed our meetings in a secluded corner of the library, at which times we studied briefly for upcoming exams and discussed the ways of life. Never once did either of us mention the cave, so I had nearly forgotten of its existence entirely. Tom seemed to have returned to his former self, regardless of what he had told me of that self being gone, and I regained my former happiness because of it. all seemed well, and I was near carefree.

On occasion, I visited Hagrid as he fulfilled his duties as gamekeeper. I did not mind the company of the rapidly-growing boarhound, though shied away when some new creature found its way into Hagrid's home. I feared that one day I would come to find the dragon he had for so long coveted sitting upon his bed or tethered outside. As the days grew warmer, we discussed such things in jest.

Final exams loomed above our heads as though a blackened could of an ominous storm. I found myself spending my days holed inside of the library—with or without Tom—piles of books about me. I felt as though I had not sufficiently processed my lessons, for at times I had grown far too distracted to do so. My worries had then subsided, thus enabling me to learn the things which I presumed I had missed. Tom merely laughed at this. The books in which he was always so engrossed were not of a level that could be taught at Hogwarts. It was no small wonder nearly all of them had been plucked from the shelves of the Restricted Section.

"Danielle?"

The calling of my name pried me from my thoughts and a particularly thick book. I capped my inkwell lest it should spill and laid down my quill beside it. My hands were spotted with small flecks of black. I lifted my grey eyes to meet the dark ones of Tom, who was leaning casually against a shelf, looking amused.

"What?" I inquired softly, smiling.

"You needn't study like this. You know as well as I that you were prepared for these exams before the year began." Though it was an obvious exaggeration, I felt flattered all the same. My cheeks flushed slightly.

"I should like to think so, though I cannot help but feel as if I have missed something."

"Hogsmeade," he interrupted promptly.

"What?"

"We have not yet been to Hogsmeade this year. Tomorrow, if you wish-"

"You wish for me to leave the library as if I have a life to live outside of it?" I asked with mock-indignance.

He chuckled, his voice rich yet his laugh somewhat awkward. When was it that he had last laughed out of pure mirth? "Of course."

"Says the heir of Slytherin." Tom gazed at me strangely for a moment, and I thought perhaps I saw something flicker through his eyes that had not been there before. Yet, as it disappeared so quickly, I could not have been sure.

"Says the heir of Slytherin," he repeated quietly, his smirk faltering slightly.

"Well, I daresay we both need a bit of sunlight every so often..."

"I will meet you, then, at the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower." He strode to me and cupped my chin within his palm, kissing me deeply. Even then, such actions numbed me and struck me motionless, so that all I could do—and wished to do—was respond. As we broke apart and he departed on an urgent excuse, I felt a sense of longing linger upon my lips. Still, I sighed in contentment and felt as though upon the air I could float.

The following day dawned warm, and as such, I dressed accordingly. When I descended the staircase, I was met with many a flurried whisper. They were not the cruel whispers to which I was accustomed to, but rather, ones of curiosity. I had done nothing different with my appearance; on the contrary, my hair was slightly mussed, and I looked nearly as though I had suddenly drifted off to sleep whilst I had been reading the night before. The fact that I actually had made no difference to me.

A girl, perhaps a year or so below me, approached as my foot left the last stair. She giggled slightly, and I gazed at her in uneasy silence. "Is it true?" she tittered. "The handsome Tom Riddle is waiting just outside the portrait hole. He says he's come to see you."

I nodded stonily, for I had not forgotten the way in which I had formerly been treated. "He would not lie to you," I said softly. "So it is true that he has indeed come for me." Without another word, I slipped past the dumbfounded girl and into the corridor in which Tom was patiently waiting.

"Ah, Danielle, at last you are here. Come, let us go, for they will not long wait." He encircled his arm abut my waist, holding me closely. I could not help but laugh—much to Tom's surprise—at the stupefied silence which we had left in our wake, for the girl and several others had followed us through the portrait hole. For the second time, I felt an irrepressible wave of happiness wash upon me. Whether or not it would last was not a care of mine.

Many of our peers had had similar thoughts to mine, what with final exams approaching, and so Hogsmeade was for less crowded than the few times I had ventured there before. I preferred it as such, however, as did Tom, so we were to have been found in higher spirits. I felt as though I had once more become a small child, for to me the village was still virtually unexplored due to my infrequent visits. Noticing this, Tom purchased for me a strawberry-flavored sweet from Honeydukes, which I ate pensively as we walked the village streets.

"I must admit," he said as we passed the Hog's Head, "that though I have greatly enjoyed our time spent together today, there is someone whom I have planned to meet this coming hour."

I paused abruptly in mid-step. "I suppose that such a meeting would not permit my presence."

"I would not wish to bore you on business affairs, Danielle. If you would like, then you may accompany me, though I would not recommend it."

I considered this thoughtfully. "Who are you meeting, then?"

"A man by the name of Burke. He is the owner of a small shop in Knockturn Alley. You may have noticed it."

In truth, I had not, so shook my head subtly. "I think... I think perhaps I shall leave you to your 'business affairs', then. There is a shop I would like to visit, and no doubt you would find it rather dull."

"Where shall I find you?"

"Would the Three Broomsticks suffice as a place to meet? Perhaps in an hour's time or so, do you think?"

He nodded. "Yes, I believe an hour will be enough. We shall meet again soon." His lips lingered upon my hand for a moment as we parted once more. I could not fully decide whether my decision to remain behind had been wise, yet I could do nothing then to change it. For even if I could, it would have been far too awkward. Though, as the minutes passed, I regretted more and more that I had not gone.

Regardless, I became determined to enjoy Hogsmeade without the company of Tom. After all, it was but an hour that we were to remain apart, and thus as I browsed the shops and walked about the square, I hardly noticed the time at all.

When a quarter of an hour's time remained, I finalized any purchases I wished t make and traipsed to the Three Broomsticks. As though it were a tankard filled, it seemed brimming with students and numerous villagers, and so it was difficult to reserve a table, even for two.

I sipped from a mug and waited, my fingers drumming upon the table's surface, so polished I could nearly discern my own reflection. And though I had not a watch or clock at which I could look, I began to grow worried, for I then felt time quickly pass, and Tom did not come. Even as it grew dark, and the pub began to clear, I sat alone in a silence only broken to order another butterbeer.

And then, at six o'clock by the watch of the man at the table closest to mine, two hours later than had been planned, the door was opened, and Tom was to be seen entering the pub.

_Where have you been?_ I was about to query, yet ere my question was voiced, he supplied the answer to it.

"I apologize, Danielle," he said hurriedly. "Mr. Burke wished to speak longer than expected." He cast a quick glance above my shoulder and his, then murmured quietly, "And to show me an item or so of great value." He straightened, then resumed in his normal tone, "But that is not matter to us at the moment, for I have come to tell you I have found work two summers from now."

"At Mr. Burke's?"

He nodded, and slid his pale hand across the table to softly caress mine. "When we are wed, we shall have gold enough to live." He cast a meaningful look at me, and then rose, the legs of the wooden chair in which he sat scraping upon the floor. "Let us go."

-

"Ah," Albus murmurs slowly. He is silent for a moment after, and I do not attempt to pry a meaning from him. He is deep within his thoughts, and from them, best not disturbed. I bring my eyes to stare upon the floor, waiting.

_Waiting_. It seems as if I shall always do so.

Albus glances upward suddenly, and I do the same. "It would seem," he begins, "that Tom had multiple reasons for acquiring work."

This surprises me, the fact that Albus has dwelled upon these reasons. I know them well, but at the age of sixteen, I knew but one. "Yes," I mutter quietly, though I doubt that he has heard me. He is still distant.

"The first and foremost, most obviously, being to acquire a number of powerful magical objects which, I am afraid, he did gain in the end. Yet the second, Ms. Riddle..." He turns to me, seemingly perplexed. "It would seem as though I have... misjudged Tom."

"What is it that surprises you so?" I ask.

"The Tom Riddle I had always known had a heart of ice and stone. If you will forgive me, until now I had not even dared to believe that it had truly been melted by you." He stokes his beard thoughtfully. "An old man's mistake.


	25. Summer of Silence

**Chapter Twenty-five:  
Summer of Silence**

As Tom had predicted, final examinations proved to be of little difficulty, though all around us, we watched our peers struggle. The awe and respect I had, for a small time, been granted was soon replaced by bitterness for the seemingly effortless way in which I conducted my performance for each class. Years ago, however, I had learned to pay them no heed, and so it bothered me not. They were of a superficial kind, full of adoration at one moment, and the next, bubbling with contempt–or so it was that I experienced. The darkly handsome Tom Riddle still captured their fancy, blind to the fact that he possessed faults–not, however, that he allowed anyone but I to see them. And thus, the only fault they found in him was me.

Still, we pleasured ourselves to midnight _rendezvous_ and meetings behind the furthermost bookshelves in the library. His somewhat different behavior had not yet faltered, and for this I was glad. At times, I excused it as a permanent change in character brought on by some mysterious revelation he had had. Yet at others, for perhaps mere seconds, I could sense something amiss–a quick glance into his eyes revealed a fleeting lack of warmth or steely glint. In my own naive mind, I thought of these as nothing, and soon forgot of them entirely.

When the days grew longer, and were filled with such an unwavering heat that it was impossible to endure more than an hour exposed to the sun, we spent our final weeks of the year beneath the tree beside the lake. There, the thickly-leaved branches provided a coolness which could not be found in any other place. The bark had been worn smooth by the many times we had leaned against it, and the trunk seemed to be molded perfectly to fit our backs. It was a place of our own in which we could do naught but enjoy the company of one another.

-

I rested my chin upon Tom's shoulder one afternoon as I always did, glancing at the text of the book which he held in his lap. Occasionally he ran his fingers along the weathered edges of the page as an unconscious habit. No doubt he could feel me smile against him as I watched him do this. At times, I had a book of my own; indeed, that dare was a rare which I did not.

After several minutes of this, he closed the book, leaving his thumbs in the center to mark his place. I slid my chin from his shoulder and brushed against his arm, moving forward upon the coarse grass until I faced him.

"You are restless today, Danielle," he noted, touching my cheek briefly with his free hand. Though it lasted but for a short time, I felt myself melting into it. Somehow, he had the ability to, in the blinking of an eye, send me into utter contentment.

"I have been thinking," I confessed, "and the topic is one that cannot render me motionless."

"Oh?" he inquired, amused. "And what topic is this that even you cannot concentrate long enough to read?"

I flushed. "Why, you and I, of course."

He did not seem surprised, though I supposed my mind had become entirely too predictable to him then. Though our marriage was to be a year from then, I could not help but think of it. Perhaps the summer air and Tom's visit with Mr. Burke had started these thoughts, snapping me into the reality of the fact that I would be a wife, and Tom my husband. At times, I wondered if I could stand the wait.

Tom looked thoughtful. "But of course," he mused with a small smile.

"Tom, where are we to live? After we are married, I mean."

"I expect we shall purchase a flat in the beginning, shall we not? But the time is long before that will come."

I nodded, muttering agreement. "And this summer?" I asked at length, switching topics to dissolve the silence which had formed around us. "Are we to be at the orphanage?"

"I am afraid so," he replied. "Dippet came to me this morning. He cannot allow us to remain here, for reasons which he would not state. We shall have to endure the _Madam_ one more time."

I grinned. "I suppose we shall manage."

I slipped my hand into his, and this time, we fell into a comfortable quiet, listening to the water gently lapping in waves against the soft bank before us. The afternoon sun glinted upon the surface of the lake, beneath which, it gently rippled, hinting of some creature's passing by. There was no wind that day to stir the thick air, and I was thankful for the shade that the tree provided us. Even so, small strands of hair clung upon the dampness of my skin, plastering them along the line of my jaw. I brushed at them irritably, yet they seemed always to remain there.

Suddenly, I pulled the shoes and stockings from my feet, momentarily resting them upon the cool grass. Then I stood, my hand escaping Tom's, and I walked to the water's edge.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously, though it seemed he knew precisely the course of action I was about to take. I looked back at him, an even wider beam gracing my lips, and gingerly I sank my foot into the chilled water, gasping at the extremity of the temperature difference.

"I-it is really quite lovely," I shivered, suddenly unsure. Later, I came to think of it as the summer air ensnaring my mind into the foolish, giddy state it had then entered, though at the time–as I had many times before–thought nothing of it.

I took yet another step, until my ankle was encircled in a cool ring of liquid. It tickled my skin pleasantly, and slowly I began to grow used to the sensation. I turned to call to Tom, yet in an instant, I felt myself plunging forward. I grasped wildly at the air in an attempt to regain my balance, shrieking in fright. Regardless of this, the muddy waters of the lake soon engulfed my face, and moments later, I emerged. My mouth still was shaped in an expression of shock, and my hair dripped in curling lengths upon my already sodden robes.

"Thomas–Marvolo–Riddle," I sputtered, for instantly I knew it was he who had caused my fall. Though he had not moved from whence I had left him, he still held his wand aloft. At first, his face seemed impassive, yet it took but a moment, and he had erupted into the same awkward laughter as before.

"I am undeniably innocent," he told me solemnly.

"You most certainly are not!"

He sighed, then smirked. "Here, allow me to assist you."

Tom came to me, his gait a nigh arrogant swagger. He leant forward, his hand outstretched, and I clasped it with mine. For a moment, it lingered there, the sun reflecting upon the water dripping across my skin as though wide rivers nearly dried. Then I tightened my grip, and in he plunged.

-

Such moments between us I would cherish, for seconds after and decades to come. There was always a simple happiness to them, drawing me into the bliss of my once childish ways and shrouding me, for a small slice of time, from the ways of the world.

This scene seemed to set the tone to which our summer would take: light and carefree, like a child who refuses to look into the shadowed corner of a room. After but a week, it seemed as though Tom and I had been happily married, planning our future together when in truth we remained at the orphanage under the Madam's constant sharp eyes. At the time, I did not consider our merriment to be driven by guilt.

-

It was night, and the walls of the room which Tom and I shared muffled the gentle hum of crickets and night birds beyond them. Thus, the most profound of noises was the persistent scratch of quill upon parchment. Though my back was turned from it and I faced the wall nearest my cot, I could see the soft glow of a candle reflecting upon the surface before me, casting shadows laced with sighs as the orphanage settled and slept. Just as summer had quickly been approaching, I feared that soon it would come to an end. Although, the air still was laden thick with heat, draping it about the room and preventing me from slumber.

I slid the sheets from my legs, heavy and lethargic, with perspiration upon me and placed y feet upon the floor. It seemed cooler than the air, and I briefly closed my eyes, savoring the feeling. Then I pulled myself from the cot and onto the edge of Tom's bed. He started at my arrival, but soon carefully replaced the cap of his ink, placing his quill beside it upon a rough three-legged table beside him. The parchment upon which he had written he hastily tucked away; I saw but the corner before it had vanished from view. I glanced at the place it had been momentarily, then lifted my gaze to meet his.

"Am I keeping you awake?" he queried, touching my shoulder.

I shivered. "No. It is far too hot for sleep."

"Indeed," he replied in agreement, and we lapsed into silence. In the absence of voices, the cricket song seemed to increase. It was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, yet it seemed that both Tom and I wished to speak, though knew not what to say. At times, I wondered if it was truly about the words.


	26. Then and Now

**Chapter Twenty-six:  
Then and Now**

When at last September loomed closer than it had ever seemed to before, I felt anticipation and excitement, for the coming year would mark my last at Hogwarts. The prospect of this was almost a frightening one, for never had I truly considered that my schooling would one day be complete. And yet, in the months ahead, this realization, I knew, would become a reality.

Momentarily, I felt stunned. What was to become of me after my life at the castle? I would be married, and that was the extent of my knowledge. A part of me would never wish to leave the place I had home to call my home for the majority of the past six years of my life. I once toyed with the idea of remaining behind as a teacher, but I quickly banished the thought. I felt that I was too young to hold such a position, and almost that Tom would not approve of it. How wrong I was in this latter thought.

-

As Tom and I were the eldest of the orphanage's residents next to the Madam herself, it was often that we were sent to the grocer's to purchase the food required for the coming week. At times, I resented this–in turn causing the Madam to resent my presence further–though at others, I was grateful to escape the confinements of our summer home.

It was one such day that we would receive our Hogwarts letters–earlier in the summer than they had been sent to us in previous years.

That morning, the air was particularly and unusually cool, widely reminiscent of early spring. Perhaps each day dawned as such–we had never before gone out at that hour–though it seemed marked amongst a sea of others as something different. The moon had long-since disappeared, though the sun peaked hesitantly through the rolling clouds and occasional thicket of tree branches overhead. The path we always traveled was hidden somewhat from the world around us, and if I paused for a moment, I could imagine myself walking through the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest–though the plant growth was far less dense. Perhaps it was in a park of sorts that we walked, though never was I quite sure. It seemed to differ from a park, for whenever we crossed it, it was as though we were alone.

The branches cast a mottled netting of shadows upon the dust path all around us, and had there been any wind at all, it surely could not have penetrated the thick grove. Later, I would recall distinctly clutching a woven basket in my hands, my fingers fumbling and toying with the handle as the skirt of my sun dress swayed as I walked. The fabric had once been of a soft periwinkle, though it had faded into a violet-tinted grey throughout the years. At one time, it had been a possession of my mother, but I wore it that morning in memory of her and the things that had died as she had.

I had never thought myself to have been close to my mother, and this I regretted. At times, it had seemed as if we had barely spoken, and in rare moments, we had been as close as sisters. It was strange to think of my parents after they had departed what seemed like so long ago. Admittedly, I had nigh forgotten of them, save for when, as it was then, that I was suddenly encompassed by the desire to have them return to me. Always, this was fleeting, for as though my mind was being read as if an opened book, Tom would pull me closer to him and smile in the way he had that both reassured and discomforted me.

Just as these thoughts surfaced into my mind, I felt the familiar gentle touch of his arm encircling my waist. The corners of my lips turned upward in a distant smile, and I leaned into him slightly. The brim of the white sunhat I wore brushed against his shoulder, setting it askew upon my head. But the week before, as we had made that same journey, he had purchased it for me from a vendor at the far entrance of the park. Often he would surprise me with little gifts–sometimes larger–much to my delight. I had but once attempted to give him something in return, for he had refused it politely, and had told me that a parcel or so on holidays and birthdays fully sufficed.

"You are for me to spoil," he had once assured me. I often wondered if he had truly meant this, though beneath his awkward joking manner, there seemed to linger sincerity.

I felt him readjust my hat so that it sat as straightly upon me as it had before, though this movement caused a line of hairs to pass in front of my eyes. A thin strand of blonde clung between my lashes, and I brushed it aside. The weight of the basket that I carried sank slightly, as I then had but one hand grasping it. Above us, the trees were unmoving, as though all but the pair of us was frozen in time–perhaps in a muggle photograph.

I parted my lips to speak, but the words died before they were even uttered, for I had heard the soft sound of air rustling through feathers. Tom too, had noticed this, and our eyes sought to locate from whence it had come.

Several moments passed before the owl–for that was indeed what it seemed to be–emitted a low call that was instantaneously followed by that of another. I shifted my gaze, following the line of Tom's arm as he pointed to a thick knot of branches to our left; upon this, a pair of eagle owls was perched. Their golden eyes glinted as they regarded us for a moment, then shook, their wings unfolding as they floated toward us.

As if by an automatic reflex, Tom held out his arm, and the first of the two birds touched upon it briefly before veering away and dropping a thick envelope at his feet. Tom scowled, and a dark cloud seemed to pass across his face. Yet in spite of this, I laughed. He cast me a scathing look.

"Really, Tom," I chuckled, whilst the second owl lingered before me with impatience. "It is a pity you cannot speak to birds."

"Whatever then would I say?" His tone still was stained with traces of an anger I could not at the time comprehend. The owl hooted nigh disapprovingly and streaked away into the shadows, releasing the envelope intended for me from a great height several meters away. In this flurry, my hat was knocked to the dust-laden ground.

"Worthless animals," he muttered scornfully, and stooped to retrieve his fallen parcel. After a moment's pause, I did the same, walking the short distance to reach the place at which it had come to land.

The envelope was of the same thick parchment I had recalled receiving six times before. The scarlet wax, imprinted with the crest of Hogwarts, seemed still to be freshly warmed, not yet fully set. For a reason I did not know, my hands quivered slightly whilst my fingers fumbled to break the seal and pull the folded letter from inside–contrary to Tom, who slit the top of the envelope with incredible deftness.

"Danielle," he murmured softly, as though disbelieving yet believing all at once. His tone was strange, and I glanced at him, my eyes leaving the still unopened letter in my hands. "They have… appointed me Head Boy…"

He looked up from the parchment, his expression unreadable–perhaps more than ever. Yet then, his lips curled into the most minute of smiles, pride shining briefly in his dark eyes. As I saw this, I too felt a surge of pride swell within me.

"That is wonderful, Tom " I exclaimed, and I embraced him, a kiss finding his cheek, then his lips.

"And you, then?" he inquired.

My cheeks flushed hotly, and I gestured to that which was still clutched amongst my fingers. "I do not know."

"Then make haste, Danielle, and you shall." I pursed my lips and he smirked.

Closing my eyes softly, I swallowed. I stroked the now worn edges of the envelope–for it seemed I had attempted to open it many a time more than I had realized.

"Is there something wrong?" he queried, his amusement apparent. At once, I felt foolish, and ripped at the thick parchment with a reserved savageness. Where I had torn it was stained with a thin line of crimson, for I had cut the flesh of my forefinger. Tom placed his hand upon my shoulder in concern. My eyes watered, and I quickly stemmed the flow of blood, the coppery liquid lightly coating a small portion of my lip.

"This is ridiculous" I scowled, biting down softly upon my lip. I thrust the letter at Tom, whose smirk threatened to grow and spread across the entirety of his face. Just as before, in one concise gesture the letter fell into my waiting hands.

I murmured my gratitude, and began to read; at first, it was only to myself, but soon the words written there escaped from my mouth.

"_Dear Miss Parmellie,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the position of Head Girl this year, 1944. After thorough consideration, we have decided that you alone are the best qualified for this elite duty, due to the unwavering excellence of your conduct. Please note that you must report to your designated compartment upon your arrival at King's Cross Station. Your badge, which you are required to wear at all times, is enclosed..."_

My heart seemed to leap and roar within my chest, and hardly was I aware that Tom had kissed my cheek and offered his congratulations.

"Fancy that," I muttered numbly, and reread the letter in awe. Though I had hoped and nigh expected it, such news still came as a shock. Yet as I considered it, I wondered if I had not been the only one eligible. But whatever the case, in truth, had been, I knew that never would I have my thoughts confirmed or disproved. And for a moment, I could not withstand such a responsibility.

-

The remaining days ere the term began passed quickly and quietly as though a fox that wishes to remain hidden in the wooded glen surrounding it. I noticed not when one day–one week–began and ended, for to me they seemed much the same, if not exactly so. Tom's mind seemed to travel along a similar path; both he and I also felt nerves unbearable, and this sense hung heavily between us. Often did we lapse into the silence which I had come to know so well, thus it was to be accepted as a part of the relationship we had–without it, things would not have been much the same. Yet there were times as well in which we felt an unexplainable loquaciousness fall upon us, and we talked of things unconstrained. This too was how it was between us.

-

"Danielle..." There came a soft whisper in my ear. I could feel Tom's breath upon me, tickling the small loose hairs which lay strewn across my face. He brushed them gently aside, and whispered my name once more.

I opened my eyes, heavy with sleep still, and I was met with his for a moment as I began to focus. "What is the time?" I queried, rolling so that I was supported by my elbows; my chin rested in my palms.

The room was in entire darkness, save for the small flickering of the candle which he held just above my cot. His eyes escaped the light of the flame as he seemed to glance at the direction of the door.

"Five o'clock," he informed me quietly. "We must depart. Mrs. Cole has not yet awakened."

I yawned then, my expression vacant. "Mrs.–"

"_The Madam_."

For many a summer, it had seemed, I had resided under the lax care of Mrs. Cole, yet I found it strange that never once had I learned of her name–until then. Although, I had not pried further and asked of it, and so I assumed that this was the reason I had not been told.

Gradually, I eased myself from the sunken mattress, fumbling blindly to straighten the blankets upon it and locate the small items I had not yet placed safely away in my trunk. Tom ducked from the room as I dressed, and returned promptly when I had finished. Then he pulled his wand from its place within his trunk and grasped it firmly, his dark eyes regarding it as though in a new light.

"What is it?" I asked, sensing instantly the hunger of his expression.

"We have been of age since January," he murmured slowly, his look flickering to me for but a moment before he returned it to his hand. "Dare I utilize magic outside of Hogwarts in an orphanage brimming with muggle swine?"

In an instant, I had recognized the danger in his tone, just as I had seen the look dancing within his eyes. This pairing, upon his being brought fear to my heart, for I had seen it before at times. It was the same longing I had seen as he first regarded the wand of Salazar Slytherin and told me of his plans. A longing far different than when it was directed at me.

"Perhaps..." I stuttered hastily. "Perhaps it is best to wait until we are away from this place. The Ministry will not pardon us if we use magic here."

At length, he returned from his trance-like state and turned to me, unblinking. "Yes," he muttered, as if to himself. "We shall Apparate from the park."

--

Albus lifts his hand, his gnarled fingers curling about his palm. His lips are pursed–though not unsmilingly–and I suddenly realize what I have forgotten. It is now my turn to smile, and I allow him to query of me what I already expect him to say.

"I do believe, Miss Riddle, that I should like to hear of your Apparating examination. If memory serves me correctly, you have not yet mentioned it." The subtle upturning of his lips now matches my own, and his clear, eyes, a robin's egg blue, begin to brighten.

I avert my gaze into my lap to mask my amusement. "It seems as though such a small event now," I admit. After all, I had neglected my coming of age. "Though at the time, I must have been quite a momentous ordeal. Shall I tell of it then? Though there is not much to tell or remember."

"I would be delighted all the same," he tells me, and I cannot help but chuckle softly.

"But of course."

He regards me thoughtfully for a moment, and once more my eyes flicker to my lap as I begin to collect my memories. Yet as I attempt this, I find that I must struggle to do so, partially for the intensity of his gaze, which causes me discomfort. As if sensing this, he speaks.

"Perhaps a Pensieve?"

Gratefully, I agree to this, placing the tip of my wand to my temple. It is a strange sensation, pulling a thought from my head, a sensation I have never enjoyed. Yet I close my eyes and draw the string of silver as though from beneath my flesh; it feels chilled and smooth, and a shudder makes its way through my body.

Then I dip the luminescent strand into the stone basin which still sits before me, and it swirls and spreads until the liquid's surface reflects a picture of springtime. There are small figures dancing across it, so minute that they are unrecognizable. I place my fingertips upon the smoothed edges of the Pensieve and lean forward so that my nose lightly touches the liquid, and it shatters into a multitude of ripples.

I lurch forward, diving into it as if into a lake, knowing that Albus is not far behind me. I am anxious to relive this memory, for I remember not the details of it. For a moment, I wonder if my former professor knows more of it than he allows me to believe. It is his nature to coax one into divulging secrets rather than forcing it brutally. It is different this time however, for he is coaxing something from me which has been nigh lost–yet not forgotten.

I cannot feel the soft rush of grass as it licks at the soles of my shoes, though the memory is triggered within my mind, so it is almost as if I can–though the blades do not even stir.

It is but a second until I find my former self, standing just behind Tom. He is precisely how I recall him being, though even so, I feel my weather-beaten heart perform a feeble flip within my chest. I have not lain eyes upon him as such for so long that it aches. It does not come as much as a shock to me, however, as my own appearance.

I am smaller than I have remembered, much more so than Tom. My hair is a dull blonde sheen, my face nearly obscured by a curtain of it, for my head is declining toward the ground. I know that in spite of this, my eyes are watchful, drinking in each movement around me. They are eyes that even now are with me: the only thing that has not changed–or, rather, have only changed a little.

An unorganized line of students files past us, joined now by my younger self and the man who has become Lord Voldemort. We do not speak as our peers do, for I know that our minds are concentrating upon things of more importance. I notice our fingers touch briefly, and we glance at each other. I smile, both then and now, and we meld into line together.

Albus places a hand upon my shoulder, preventing me from further progression. I turn to him, and he casts me a look that is just short of pity. Instead, I can describe it only as being of firmness and understanding. I do not respond with words, but comprehension and acceptance passes between us. I am an old woman, yet with this visit into the past it feels as though I can simply fade away into my memories, reliving them forever more. Though at times, I wonder if I already am.

When we reach Hogsmeade, Albus allows me to trail just behind Tom and myself. I catch small snatches of dialogue between others, on occasion, that speak of me. Momentarily, I look about at the village of 1944. The shops do not much differ from what little I see of them now, though there Is a quality that they have which in the present they lack. I cannot describe it, but I wonder if it is because they then had nothing to fear. It is because of Tom that even the air is laden with constant worry now.

I shake my head to clear these thoughts from my mind. The examination is about to begin, and I fall into stillness.

"Are you nervous?" Tom inquires, taking my hand. There is a wizened man at the furthermost end of our peers. My gaze travels toward him for a moment, as a girl vanishes with a splitting crack, reappearing a small distance away within a circle that is etched upon the ground.

"My hands," I murmur. "They are shaking." This is the truth, for I hold them out before me, displaying their violent quivering.

"Would you care to practice, then? Surely that would put a stopper upon your fears."

"Here?" I ask in surprise.

He nods and leads me behind the shop nearest us. It is a building forlorn and abandoned, its windows covered in boards. Yet even this wood has begun to wear away, and it is a wonder that it still stands.

My shoulder brushes against its side, and aged flecks crumble and fall away. I glance at it for but a fleeting second; Tom brushes it aside and holds my arms. He guides my wand into my grasp, then releases me.

I bite my lip in concentration, then close my eyes. And with a sound far louder than I have remembered the girl's to be, I Apparate into the abandoned shop, smiling thinly through a space between the boards of the window. After a moment, Tom whisks himself beside me, and our younger selves are hidden.

I turn from this mirthful display, for I have seen enough. I pass Albus as I retreat, and we exchange a glance which, within a short time, has graced our faces often. I remember distinctly the events that follow: how we are discovered and chastised for wandering away, and how Tom charmed trouble from befalling us. Albus, I know, will remain to see the entirety of the scene unfold, but for a reason I cannot describe, I realize I cannot bear to do the same.


	27. That Which September Brings

**Chapter Twenty-seven:  
That Which September Brings**

The yellow light of scattered street lamps bathed the path before us as we walked along the road. Dawn still lay just below the horizon, which was fortunate, for we made a strange sight to behold at such an hour. Since we had not yet reached the Park, we were burdened by our trunks and possessions–cumbersome, for magic had not touched them. In the duration of our short journey, Tom did not speak to me, and I wondered if he had come to resent me somehow. After all, it was I who had dissuaded him from using magic. Though I reasoned with myself that I had been correct in doing so, I thought perhaps denying him such power had angered him. I soon realized I need not have worried, however. Perhaps, I mused, it was simply that he had come to regret listening.

When we came to the entrance of the Park, I stopped, Tom passing through into the trees so that I could no longer see him if I had looked. However, my eyes were trained upon the large wooden sign that arched above our path; never before had I noticed it, and in the growing light, the peeling letters were just visible. _Quercus_, it read. I smiled a small, sentimental smile, knowing that never again would I walk through this Park with Tom as we enjoyed one another's company. It was strange to realize that I would come to miss a routine connected to something which I despised.

Yet however odd it was, still I was leaving behind a place I had briefly called home. It was as if a piece of me was to be lost, and after my sentiment had passed, I felt _free_.

Suddenly, I felt an impatient tug upon my hand. "What are you doing, Danielle?" Any morning other than this, I knew, he would have been amused. "We have not the time to admire a filthy sign. Come, before we are swarmed by muggles."

I sighed. "For just one moment, Tom, stop and look at things around you."

I thought I saw the hint of a sneer twisting upon his handsome face, though all traces of whatever it had been soon vanished. "No, Danielle. Not here in the place which I am eager to abandon forever." He furrowed his brow as though he felt he could not make me understand.

Yet I _did_ understand, and I told him so. He looked upon me with relief for a brief moment, and then we entered the Park, the trees and our former lives coming to a close behind us.

-

We Apparated to a remote end of King's Cross Station, from which our platform could not easily be seen. This time, it was Tom who insisted that we must walk, though I could not more have agreed. After all, the station had begun to filter in a large assortment of people–magic and non-magic alike–which would soon become an enormous, bustling throng. And even so, time still remained before our presence was required upon the Hogwarts Express. A half, if not three-quarters of an hour could be spent as leisurely as we pleased, though I knew Tom would wish to board as quickly as we could.

After locating a pair of trolleys and placing our belongings upon them, we quickly progressed to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. As was expected, it was empty save for the man who stood watch just beside the barrier–which we quickly passed through.

Once on the other side, we had entered a magical realm, a sight of beauty after our confinement in the orphanage. The familiar scarlet steam engine gleamed proudly in the full sun, the light dancing upon its surface and reflecting onto the ground. Tom had always regarded this in disdain, for he felt that the school favored his opposing House far too obviously. Yet this year, it was an image welcome to us both.

Already, a small handful of students had arrived, sullen- and somber-faced at being present so early before departure. Even Tom's face seemed grimly set, and my own, I realized, was without much expression as well. Thoughtfully, I glanced around us, and with a start, noticed a similarity between the students which milled about the platform.. They were alone; their families had long-since left or had never arrived to begin with. Like us, they were, though I did not mention it aloud to Tom. His eyes had narrowed as though he distrusted the mere presence of our lonely peers and his stride lengthened as we approached the train.

The machine before us was a scarlet portal to another world, and I savored this fact as I placed my foot upon the first step which led to it. Yet before I could progress any further, my path was blocked by the tiny frame of a girl, far too young to be of schooling age. Her eyes were round, magnified slightly by a pair of thinly-framed spectacles. Her hair had been pulled into a knob at the furthermost point of her head, dull coils escaping it and swinging freely against the line of her jaw. She fixed her stare upon me, and it caused me to become uneasy.

"The Riddle girl," she murmured softly, and held my nervous eyes in her own. I was oblivious to the looks which I received from Tom from behind her, for he had walked ahead of me, boarding before the child had had the chance to cross his path.

After a moment, I could nearly hear Tom's frown as he firmly pressured her shoulder. "Move, girl," he snapped, and she staggered forward. She never glanced over her shoulder to see who it had been that had touched her; indeed, she did not blink and her stare bored into my back as I clambered onto the train. Suddenly, I felt weary, and when my gaze slipped to the ground, it remained there until the castle we reached.

-

Albus looks thoughtful, as he always seems to be each time he finds need to interrupt my tale. In this silence, I wonder if it is even a tale that I am telling, for tales begin with troubled times and end with princes and blissful happiness. Perhaps this is a _memoir_, whose closing is permitted to contain sorrow–and undeniably will.

"Ms. Riddle... Did the identity of this girl ever become known to you?" he asks slowly as if he is carefully choosing his words while he pieces together a puzzle.

I shake my head softly. "Her name I do not know, but I have reason to believe she is a relation to a member of your staff."

He nods, his yes clouding with a look that is seeing in a place far away. "Of course."

Even now, the appearance of this child brings a mixture of feeling to me, the same uneasiness I felt so long ago surfacing above all else. Perhaps it would not be so if I knew not of the Seer blood which runs through her veins, strengthening her inner-eye and piercing into mine.

-

It was a lonely affair, the feast which began each year, for it had become an unspoken rule at the Ravenclaw table that I was to dine alone. No matter the number of students there were, there seemed always room to leave a small gap between the closest of my House-mates and I. This year, I expected treatment no different, and that was nigh precisely what I received. For this year, I was Head Girl, and the badge pinned upon me commanded a certain amount of respect from my peers. Proud, they seemed to be, that a Ravenclaw held such an esteemed position, and thus for the first time, the gap was closed. Little did they speak to me, yet it mattered not. By a twisted yet welcomed default, I belonged, and would belong for the remainder of the year.

I turned my attention to the front of the Great Hall when Professor Dumbledore appeared with a three-legged stool and an ancient hat which I knew well. As it was the final year in which I would hear the song of the Sorting Hat, I focused upon it more thoroughly than I had in the past. Always, I had taken pleasure in listening to the rhymes which it created, solving its cryptic riddles and pondering its advice. I wondered, at times, if I was the sole person doing so, save for the frightened group of first years whom I knew would only half listen to the words. Yet when the rip just above its brim opened and it began to sing, it captured the attention of the school in its entirety:

"_Time grows weary on dusty shelves  
When in silence one sits long  
But it is as if I must rush  
To compose my yearly song.  
So listen well with eager ears  
As I relay these warnings  
Of times ahead which may seem bleak  
Like clouds on days of mourning.  
To Gryffindors, so bold and brave,  
Beware impulsive actions  
Trust your hearts at moments right and  
Quiet gloating satisfaction.  
To Hufflepuffs, so kind and true,  
Your hearts are laden with gold  
So seek not ways to be betrayed  
When suspicion can unfold.  
Yet to Ravenclaws, the wisest,  
Take lightly not my cautions  
What thought you to be set in stone  
Has also other options.  
Consider other roads to take  
As you begin your journey  
Lest life itself takes drastic turns  
And your world falls topsey-turvey.  
And lastly, sly Slytherins,  
Deceive not those close to you  
Beware your lust for power's touch  
Protect what's precious, old and new.  
Yet fear this not, for sharp young wit  
Will save each House when it is time  
Remember, clouds which loom above  
Can sometimes still be silver-lined."_

The moment the hat fell silent, the Great Hall erupted in whispers, befuddled and nervous. I glanced at the Slytherin table, searching for Tom. When I found him, he looked up, and our eyes briefly locked. Though we never discussed it between us, even after we had exited the room, we both knew somehow that the song had indirectly been meant for us.


	28. Echoes of Envy

**Chapter Twenty-eight:  
Echoes of Envy**

Months before it had been thirteen winters which I had lived upon the world, I was brought to Hogwarts as a second year student, for at the time, such transfers were permitted, encouraged–and thus, common. As I patrolled the lengths of corridor before the Ravenclaw tower at seventeen, my thoughts echoed with memories from this time in my life as loudly as my footsteps echoed in the castle after nightfall. For a week, I had been troubled by the words of the Sorting Hat, for when I delved deeply into the catacombs of my mind, I remembered that which it had whispered into my ear when atop my head it was placed. Ominous, it had seemed to me five years prior, yet I had discarded its warnings for more trivial thoughts.

I glanced at the ornate tapestry which obscured the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower, the woven designs upon it curling in the flickering light–whether it appeared as such only because of the torches and candles, I never knew. I traced my fingers along it as I passed; the patterns shrank back at my touch, then approached once more as though with caution. As was expected, the castle was empty, and I had encountered no one for the better portion of an hour. Tom, I knew, was somewhere beneath my feet, pacing the dungeons and searching, just as I did, for disturbances which would not be found.

That night when I performed my duty as Head Girl, I recalled the terror I had felt the moment the Sorting Hat slipped over my head, plunging my vision into darkness. I remembered sitting there for a long while, until at last it began to speak to me.

_A transfer, I see,_ it had said. It was several moments before I realized that I alone could hear its voice at that time.

_And intelligence I have seen quite rarely indeed. Yes_, it had considered. _There is no doubt where you belong. But, I wonder... is this truly where you need to be? Perhaps you shall be safer here. Your future's not been set in stone, you know. Although, I am not one to gamble with destiny..._

I stopped, listening, my memory disrupted by the nearly inaudible sound of heavy breathing and bare feet pattering upon the ground. I sighed, then set my lips into a straightened line. I had hoped to slip away as quickly as I could, for the time approached that I was required to return to my dormitory. Yet I could not, as I had discovered a student wandering the school at night.

I pressed on toward the sound, yet as I neared, it began to lessen, then ceased all at once. I frowned, squinting my eyes into slits. That was when I spotted him, huddled inside a shadowed crevice of the wall. He neither moved nor spoke as I approached, as if his stillness would render him invisible beneath my gaze. I slowed my steps into a halt, the toes of my shoes pointing directly at the obscured figure. There was a sharp intake of breath, then the sound of his palm being clapped over his mouth.

"I know you are there." In the silence, my voice reverberated clearly. "It is of no use to hide."

Reluctantly, the boy emerged. He was small; I recognized him as one of the first years I had managed to glimpse during the ceremony of the Sorting. His hair, a lighter blonde than my own, was cropped just beneath his ears, and his eyes were pressed to the floor. Even in the partial darkness, I could discern the inflamed color of his cheeks.

"What business do you have in the castle at this hour?" I inquired. "Surely, you must know that it is against the rules to wander about so late. All the same, I must present you to the Headmaster, who will punish you accordingly." I recited this as if it were a script I had memorized, pausing little between thoughts.

"Please." He spoke for the first time. His voice was soft. "They said they just wanted to be friends." The boy savored this final word upon his tongue before continuing helplessly, "I didn't know... I didn't..."

His voice cracked, and he rubbed his eyes furiously to rid them of his tears. I was suddenly struck with pity for this boy, a display of despair. In a way, I was reminded of myself, for he clearly had been the brunt of a tasteless joke. My eyes softened.

"Just this once, perhaps," I murmured, then dismissed him. "See to it that you are not caught, for the others will not be so kind."

He sniffed into the sleeve of his robe, then fled.

-

I rose early the following morning in order to meet Tom before breakfast. It was a routine that we had begun that year, and I was glad for it, as we could both easily slip away before our House-mates awoke. Yet as I neared the library, I discovered that it and the surrounding corridor were void of any occupation. Puzzling this was, for never was he late, nor was I early.

I stood against the wall for several minutes, waiting in hopes that he had been but delayed. However, it was nigh a quarter of an hour past when I had arrived that I at last progressed toe the Great Hall, my stomach knotted in apprehension.

To my dismay, I found him seated near the head of the Slytherin table, immersed in a quiet discussion with several students I had no recollection of seeing ever before. There was a heavily built boy, whose broad shoulders were hunched in such a way that he seemed to be observing something upon the table before him. Beside him was another boy, though he seemed quite the opposite of the first, for he was slender, and his dark hair hung past his shoulders so as to obscure his face. A much younger boy peered eagerly at Tom from directly across him. His face I could not see, for he did not face me, and so I glimpsed but the shocking white-blonde hair which came to a point at the nape of his neck.

For a moment, I suppressed the compulsion to join them, then I noticed the being seated at Tom's right, and my heart seemed to sink into the very catacombs of the castle.

She was darkly beautiful in a way that I could never dream to become, her brown hair reminiscent of the damp soil which tops a newly-dug grave and the glittering stars in a midnight sky. She was pale, yet it was becoming, and accentuated the curving sneer of her crimson lips. My dismay transformed after a numb instant to hurt, then to an overwhelming anger as she leaned against him whispering only to have him whisper back, even smile. Through my anger, I felt a burning envy that I Had not felt before of another person. When her lips so poisonous formed the word _Voldemort_, I turned and briskly stumbled from the Hall.

My emotions were changing quickly then, and I felt each one wrack through me. My mind knew precisely where I was headed, yet I was detached from it, and felt not the movement of my feet as they carried me to the Headmaster's office. I heard myself inquire Professor Dippet of the password to the Slytherin dungeons, heard myself supply a reason for my query. I watched as I left without thanking him and sped away down a maze of stairways and corridors until I was well beneath the main parts of the school.

When I recovered my sense of existence, I was standing before the entrance of the Slytherin common room. I swayed upon the spot which I stood, suddenly dizzy and uncertain. For seconds, I could not remember my reason for being there. A strange thing had awoken within me, and not until later did I feel the ugliness of it. Yet then, it deafened me from voices of reason.

"Devil's Snare," I snarled, and stepped through the opening my words created.

The room was cast in an eerie glow of green, yet this was all I noticed about it for immediately I began to search for Tom's dormitory. Later, I could not even recall whether I had been alone.

I located it at once. The door which led to it was the closest to me, and the most easily accessible. The dark, polished wood was highly contrasted against an ornate silver seven at its center, the number held fast in the embrace of a sculpted serpent. At first, the silver knob would not turn, as though denying my entrance because it knew I should have not been requesting it. Though it was simply locked, and soon I was inside.

Just as Tom's dormitory had been simple to find, the bed in which he slept was most obvious. Favoritism was always apparent in the House of Salazar Slytherin, even more so when it held the sleeping place of the Head Boy. The four posts of his bed had been lavishly decorated with expensive hangings, and he had been granted the largest space of the small room in which to place his things. The other beds had been pressed closely together, save for one which had several inches of difference.

In spite of this, Tom kept his belongings in the trunk in which he had transported them from the orphanage. It was to this that I proceeded. I lifted the lid slowly, suddenly conscious to noises I might make. Inside, everything had been packed neatly, yet the diary I had given him a year or so before lay haphazardly tossed upon the top, as though he had been forced to hide it hurriedly. And thus, I snatched it from its place and closed the trunk.

I did not know where to take it, so I crawled onto his bed. What I thought I might find upon the thick pages I was not sure. For moments I would think that what I had done was foolish and without thought. I had not stopped to consider things logically, and my actions seemed to show that I had greatly overreacted. Yet other moments, that which I was doing made perfect sense, and I ceased to question it.

As I opened the leather-bound booklet, a piece of parchment fell into my lap. Curiously, I examined it, only to find that it was a list of names I did not know. However, I recognized the parchment itself, with a jolt, as the parchment Tom had hidden from me in his room at the orphanage. What had he not wished for me to see, I wondered, and why? The list was labeled with two letters, and at the time, they had no meaning. _D.E._, it read, and I was befuddled further.

-

I had been so engrossed in my search–a search whose purpose I did not know–that time had lost its meaning. I had forgotten of the day's classes and of any other obligations I might have had, as I had not yet been disturbed by anyone. The diary entries fascinated me in spite of myself, and never before had they been read, for I was the only other person who knew how to do so. I had been the initial creator of its secrecy, yet his words brought so much more. More, even, than secrecy, for there were often references to me that brought a smile to my lips, and I was even more thankful that there was no one to see me then.

Of the brunette fraternizing with Tom, I learned little more than her name. Druella Rosier, she seemed to be, the only female on his mysterious list of names, and in her fifth year. There were brief mentions of her every so often, yet nothing more, as though he was laxly monitoring her, or considering her for something. It was a comfort to find that she was written of differently than I was. There was no mention of her appearance, or even of things they had spoken of, though it still seemed peculiar, as I could not piece together an understanding of the relationship between them and the other names upon the list.

With a weary sigh, I closed the diary and set it upon the edge of the mattress. I curled my knees to my chest and rested my head against his pillows, slipping my legs beneath the topmost blanket until I was ensconced in its warmth. I was overwhelmed with shame for my strange mood, and had no comprehension of my actions. I felt almost sickened, and burying myself in Tom's bed, his scent surrounding me, was a panacea, and I quickly fell prey to slumber.

-

My cheeks color just in remembrance of this event, for even now it seemed an odd occurrence. There is amusement brewing in Albus' eyes, I know, and so I cannot meet them with my own. He has recognized the typical jealousy of adolescents, and I nearly regret that I have recounted this to him. Yet I know it is important that I have. The list which I discovered marked the formation of the very first of Tom's followers–or potential followers.

The names are of no use now, for their owners have almost all passed on. Druella, who is the only one from the list I can still recall, has died the most recently of them all.

-

My eyes opened with a start, for in my sleep I had been overwhelmed with the sense that there was a presence beside me. It was moments before I realized where I was, yet when I did, thoughts of worry crashed down upon my mind. I struggled to sit up, the blankets tangled about me until it seemed I was attempting to run blindly through thick liquid and fog.

Suddenly, I heard a low chuckle near my ear and felt a hand upon my back. I tensed, through in an instant I relaxed and sank once more into the pillows. I knew not how long I had slept, though I sensed that it had been long enough. Tom had returned to his dormitory; whether he had guessed what awaited him, I was not certain.

"I trust you have found what you were searching for," he murmured, and had there been any other occupants in the room, I alone still would have heard him.

I hung my head. "I am sorry."

He was a barely perceptible pause. "Rosier is nothing more than an asset."

I sighed hollowly and suddenly my throat seemed to clench. My eyes burned, and just as the boy whom I had met the previous evening had done, I rubbed at my eyes to dam the approaching river of tears. "Yet the way she conducts herself around you... The way you allow her to–"

Only the soft glint in his eyes could be seen in the darkness of the room. He touched my cheek, and I fell silent as he kissed me.

"Nothing more, Danielle. At times, one must do anything possible to gain what one desires most."

These words were to haunt me for the rest of my life.


	29. Tainted Blood

**Chapter Twenty-nine:  
Tainted Blood**

The weeks had begun to pass, and I had been swallowed up by my schooling as I had been in years before. And I found myself also stealing into Tom's dormitory whenever a possible moment to do so presented itself. I never questioned what seemed to be sheer coincidence, in that it was always empty, even when I had not yet informed Tom of my intentions. Once again, yet ever so slowly, I began to sense the connection between our minds. At the time, I feared to bring up such a topic, for in my insecurity, I worried that if I were to make one more mistake, or anger him one more time, he would no longer tolerate me. However, there was another topic which I would soon unearth, one of greater magnitude that I certainly could not keep to myself.

Unbeknownst to Tom–or at least, that is what I supposed at the time–I continued to peer into his diary from time to time. I did not know my reasons for this, and yet somehow I felt that it was something I should do. Perhaps it was that, at times, he disclosed the progress of his plans, and while it frightened me, it was the only way in which I could learn of them.

Halloween had passed just days before I discovered his secret. Or perhaps it was not the first time I had heard of it, and it had simply been forgotten like so many other things in my life. There were several pages within the diary that seemed to have been written in a terrible rage, for the script, which was normally finely penned, seemed to have been written with a quill which had been dug into the page. The letters were formed in such an uneven manner that I had difficulty reading them, and spots of ink peppered the surface, just visible under my expert eye. In the end, I was able to discern the general meaning which it held.

_Should I be without_, it read, and here it became for a several spaces illegible, _...require the utilization of... and the bones plucked from the grave of my father. In death... less worthless than in his despicable muggle life._

For a moment, my breath halted in my lungs, and I continued until the words seemed to swim together.

_I have discovered the location of my mother's grave... whom I curse... to fraternize with such filth..._

-

"I do not understand," I said quietly, for I heard him enter the room and close the door softly in his wake.

He attempted to slip his arms about my shoulders in a greeting, but I shrugged myself from his touch. Still, it was not enough to escape, for he murmured a soft query into my hair. When I ignored his presence near me for a moment, I could nearly feel the heat rise from his cool skin, as he grew cross.

"What is it, Danielle?" he snarled, retreated a small distance away in order to pace before me. We would not meet each other's eyes. "What is it that I have done _this_ time to upset you?"

I stammered at first, for his rage had always terrified me–and any other being who had happened to become the recipient of it. Tom was always one who was quick to anger, yet one who could abandon all control over himself nigh only when he chose to. Save for the rare exceptions, which, at the moment, I feared it would become. When I dared to look up at him, only for a fraction of a second, I saw spots of red creep across his pale cheeks, then recede. I feared he would lose himself, and that watching this angered flush was like watching the battle for control deep inside of him, played out across his face.

I whimpered then, and closed my eyes briefly, gathering what little strength I had. "Tom," I began, more evenly than I expected. My heart fluttered as though it were a captured moth, beating at the confines of its cage. "I have read your diary."

To my astonishment, there was anger welling inside of me. "You are a half-blood, one of the very beings whom you despise!"

I heard the quick steps of his pacing cease, and then he wheeled to face me.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly, though we both knew the words which I had spoken, and I did not repeat them.

I could feel the near-hatred of his look being bored into me as he regarded me in silence. Or perhaps, just then, it _was_ hatred and nothing short of it; at the moment those words fell from my lips, I wondered if a small piece of his affection for me had been lost. I could place little blame upon him for doing so, and my heart began to weep, mourning for this, my regrets, my fears, everything in the world, for just then the world seem an insufferably small place.

Tom seemed to retreat into his own mind until I was no longer within the same room as he, and there was no one to hear him but himself. Yet even before he spoke, I felt his words, in some way–yet not entirely–would be meant for me, even if he did not realize it.

"The stupidity of my mother perhaps increased when she discerned a way to obtain what she desired, yet foolish was she to believe that she should want what she should not have! A disgrace to the Slytherin line she was already, and her attraction to that damned muggle man then made her a disgrace to me. Am I not, then, a disgrace to my blood? My blood, tainted and foully impure by wrongful affection. I cannot deny this affection, however indecent and incriminating it may be, for I was born from it, and now I am capable of having affection be born from me. This, too, I cannot deny. I am disgraced. Disgraced!

"Such impurities must be put to an end. They are not fit to learn, not fit to be taught, not fit to breathe. Their minds are compromised by a world unfit to mingle with our own. Yes, I have mingled with this world. I was raised by it yet did not succumb to it and fall prey, and so I am stronger than those who dare to think that we hold a thread in common. And this became my secret!"

His maddened gait increased in speed, and I dared not to speak. Indeed, I had become frozen–paralyzed–by not only fear but by his words. They captivated me, as for the very first time, I was learning of his past in great detail.

"Yet I was not guarded enough, and it was a secret no longer. Of course it would be she who discovered it, a Ravenclaw to match even my own wit, whose pure or adulterated blood matters not, for once, to me. And yet, she judges an identity which, loathe am I to admit, is mine, and the actions I must take to purge this finite world. She confesses that she does not understand! How, I wonder, can such simplicity astound her so? Comprehension of it cannot be so difficult!"

He grew quiet for a moment, and his eyes began to soften.

"And now I judge," he murmured, suddenly a look of utter exhaustion swept over his features. "Whilst it is I she judges as well. My purpose is so great that even she cannot see it as I do, so clearly."

I realized then that throughout his entire speech, tears had trailed down my cheeks instead of the surface of my heart. My hands were damp where they had dripped onto them, for they could not have been contained. And likely, it was my stifled sobbing which once more alerted Tom of my presence. He stared at me with widened eyes as though he was, in reality, looking upon the pale form of a ghost or some other unworldly thing.

"Danielle," he blinked, then turned his head as though in embarrassment.

I sniffed and buried my eyes in the ebony sleeve of my robe for a moment. I opened my mouth to speak, yet it was as if I had lost my ability to speak, or otherwise had no idea of what to say.

"I... I still cannot understand," I choked at last. "There is no comprehension to it, Tom!"

"Then you are still blinded–"

"I am blinded by nothing!" I cut in, and rose to my feet. My hands trembled, though I hid them behind me so that he could not catch a glimpse of them. "You are... you are delusional, mad!"

His expression changed to one of cunning, and his contorted features became placid or more relaxed. "And yet you remain here with me."

Swallowing, I held his gaze locked with my own until I forced myself to look away. "Are you truly capable of affection, Tom," I inquired quietly, "as you do not deny that you are? Do you... do you _love me_?"

The question hung suspended in the air between us by a single thread of spider's silk, and we did not move it, as if we feared it would fall and shatter upon the floor. It was a question whose answer, I had come to realize, I had never before received, and though I had not asked it before this, I had assumed that I knew, requiring no confirmation of my beliefs. And when h is answer took too long to come, I left in silence.

-

He came to me just before our dinner in the Great Hall was to begin. I had retreated there hours before, knowing that in its empty state, it was not a candidate for my whereabouts, although I expected him to locate me far sooner than he did. In the time before he came at last, I had contemplated the relationship between us, among many things. I had not, then, the heart or mind to concentrate upon the pile of homework which lay upon the table before me. School work was not to be a comfort to me that day as it had often been before, for there was no place inside my head for it to occupy.

In the past, it was not often that I questioned his feelings for me, for mine for him had always been so strong. So much so, in fact, that he had been correct in telling me that I was blinded, though it was simply in a different sense–not that it was all simple.

When Tom approached me, I feigned ignorance of his presence, staring in concentration at a knot in the surface of the Ravenclaw table in a far too obvious manner. It would do nothing, I knew, yet it did not stop my attempt.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed his feet stopped just behind me. I could feel the stares of others pressing in, and the boy whom I had rescued from detention weeks before me shrank away. Tom cleared his throat, hissing angrily at the attention we were receiving, but I pretended that I could hear nothing.

"Danielle," he whispered, his warm breath caressing my ear. At length, he took my hand and pulled me to my fee, leading me away. I did not know why I complied, although through the entirety of the time we walked together, I did not even glance up at him.

Earlier, in the dark hours of the morning, the enchantments which rested upon the castle had been lifted. It had been meant as a secret, yet as it always had, the secret had been leaked throughout the students as though it were water. The reasoning behind it had not been disclosed, though it had been rumored, among other things, that it was in order for them to be replaced by ones of a greater power. And thus it came as no surprise to me when Tom brought me to the center of the Quidditch pitch, and we Apparated away.

I did not recognize where we were, though after several moments I found that we had come into a cemetery. The grass was we as though it had recently rained, and yet the stars were particularly bright, in spite of this and the fact that it still seemed early in the evening. Gusts of wind, almost rough, wove between the graves, creating an ominous sort of sound that, for some reason, did not instill fright within me. Wordlessly, Tom began to walk forward, and I followed him, wondering. Briefly, my eyes were fixated upon an enormous home in the distance, the windows dark and lifeless.

Soon, we paused, and he turned to me.

"My mother," he said softly, and he gestured to a small, blank tombstone which I had not noticed before. Beside it lay a grave much larger, and I did not read the names upon it, for I knew. "And my father."

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip and regarded the graves with reverence. It was strange, looking upon the resting places of his parents, yet I could not deny the strong sense of connection I felt to them at the time.

I knelt upon the soft ground before his mother, my knees digging into the mud and small tufts of grass which chose to grow along the perimeter. My fingers were steady as I touched the stone, as though I was touching her hand and meeting her during her lifetime. I imagined the warmth that might have been there, for now it was but a chilling cold.

"Hello," I whispered, a tender smile tugging at my lips. I regarded it for a minute more, then moved my hand to touch the grave of his father.

However, before I could do so, Tom hurriedly said, "Do not."

I furrowed my brow curiously, my fingers but a centimeter away from the stone. "Why did you bring me here, Tom?" I inquired.

He moved closer to me, eve so slightly that it nearly passed by unnoticed. "I have an answer for your question," he replied.

I looked up.

"I love you."


	30. Once Upon a December

**Chapter Thirty:  
Once Upon a December**

I look at Albus squarely. "It was then that all doubts were obliterated from my mind, even those that might have attempted to linger, hesitant to leave. Perhaps this was selfish of me, for I had decided that whatever it was that Tom chose to do, it did not matter. He cared for me, and at the time I thought of nothing further. I decided to not stand before him and slow the progress of his plans. Perhaps this is the greatest mistake I have ever made. Intelligence is only valuable and worthwhile if one uses it."

When he is silent for longer than I expect, my eyes drift to the floor in shame. I know what he must think of me, and it is unbearable to be held in such low esteem. I feel as though I am a child under the scrutinizing gaze of a parent after committing a wrongdoing. _Guilty_.

"Ms. Riddle, I am not blaming or chastising you in any way, you must understand." The wrinkles upon his face bend further into a kind smile. "What is done, is done, there is no going back. Don't place the burden of Tom's misdeeds upon your own shoulders."

I sigh. "Yet what, Albus, if they are misdeeds of my own?"

-

The winter holidays came upon us so quickly I wondered if a page had been ripped from the calendar and tossed beneath a pile of other long-forgotten things. The first snow of the season seemed to have been brought to the castle grounds upon the wings of the owls which carried the post each day clutched in their talons and beaks, and soon it was blanketed in white. Sounds of laughter drifted through the halls, the giddy chattering of girls wafting through the windows from the grounds below. Nearly everyone seemed lighter of heart, quicker to smile and less quick to anger. Even Tom, if such a thing was possible, seemed content, even peaceful, the effects of which I marveled at from time to time.

The afternoon before the holidays were to begin, we were allowed into Hogsmeade. Tom had agreed to accompany me, for we had decided against visiting the village at all previous opportunities that year, and I was eager to walk the streets at least once in our seventh year.

-

I stood at the base of the staircase in the entryway, leaning against it absent of mind as I waited for Tom to appear. We were to meet there, and yet, as our peers began to file toward the doors, he still had not arrived. I was conscious of how foolish I looked, standing there on my own as though glued, and as if to correct this impression I twirled my feet lightly in a circular motion on the stone.

In the days before, Tom had alluded to some sort of event occurring in the village that day, and a minute feeling of uneasiness had crept its way into my stomach since then. For I knew that he would not have mentioned such a thing if it pertained to Hogsmeade alone—that is, if Hogsmeade knew anything of it. Briefly, the thought that this was the actual cause of his benign mood crossed my mind, then lingered.

Footsteps suddenly echoed in the corridor, and I glanced up just as Tom had rounded the corner. In his hands, he was clutching something which, at first, I could not see enough to identify.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said after kissing me lightly.

"They have left for Hogsmeade already," I observed as I glanced at the door. "Shall we attempt to catch up?"

For a moment, Tom frowned, then smoothly responded, "No." I looked up at him in surprise, only to find a mysterious smile etched across his face. Inside, my stomach turned, as it caused him to suddenly become more handsome.

"Have you another way, Tom?" I inquired, beginning to smile myself for at that time it seemed infectious. The question I had asked was unnecessary, as I already knew. What else would change his expression as such?

Tom nodded and began to walk, I beside him. His fingers brushed against mine as we traveled at a nigh hurried gait, the surprising chill of his flesh sending an unwilling shiver along my arm. However, when my hand was encompassed in his, it slowly began to warm. My cheeks, so susceptible to donning a blush, colored only slightly at this public—yet longed for—display of affection. There was an assuring silence between us as we made our way through the corridors, one of the moments in time when we both knew that words were an unnecessary hindrance.

We stopped before the statue of a one-eyed witch, whose stone hump protruded awkwardly above her. I regarded it quizzically, though Tom whisked his wand from his pocket and tapped upon it hastily. To my great astonishment, the hump began to move aside, stone scraping gently against stone to reveal a passageway just wide enough to admit a person. Though, it seemed as if I would be the only one of us to slip through, as it looked far too narrow to admit Tom's shoulders.

He briefly rested his foot upon the mouth of the opening in order, I supposed, to view my reaction. His lips twisted into a pleasant smirk, for my eyes were wide and my mouth was agape as though a door unhinged.

"However did you discover such a thing?" I wondered aloud. For all that I had seen and done within the castle walls, they still always held something new for me to find. My finger twirled about a lock of my hair as I transiently contemplated this, and in that short tie, tom disappeared into the passage as though it had come alive to swallow him into its depths. A feeling of alarm nearly overtook me, and I rushed to the opened statue, peering into the gaping blackness.

"Tom?" I called hesitantly. My voice reverberated in a somewhat eerie manner, the impacted dirt—which I supposed it to be lined with—muffling the sound and smothering it soon after. From within, I heard Tom mutter something, and an instant later, the passageway was bathed in faint light.

"It is alright, Danielle," he assured me, though from where I stood his voice seemed too distant. "And," he added after a slight pause, "an improvement, if it is compared to the Chamber of Secrets."

"I suppose anything might be, I muttered, uncertain whether he would hear me and not having a preference either way. With a grimace, I slowly eased myself into the dark interior, the potent smell of earth reaching my nose as soon as my head ducked inside.

Though I did not enjoy being immersed in such a confined space, there was still a certain thrill that accompanied it; I could not deny the sheer excitement of entering an unknown portion of the castle, something which I had not felt since the Chamber of Secrets had been sealed. It was strange, almost, that I had thought of the Chamber in such a way, when it had been the cause of a multitude of horrors. Peculiar as well was the fat that I did not consider our visits to the seaside cave and the cemetery to be among the few excitements that I had had. Although, perhaps the most unexpected thing was that I, a taciturn bookworm, had had them at all.

I whispered a quick _Lumos_, illuminating the tip of my wand and casting a mixture of light and shadows across Tom's face. I had not heard him approach me from behind, so lost in thought was I. He slid past me just enough to replace the hump to where it had rested before we disturbed it, and once he had done so, we progressed deeper into the passage.

At first, we but ducked our heads to avoid scraping them upon the earth above us—Tom more than I—yet soon we were forced onto our knees. The tunnel was of such a primitive and filthy quality that I wondered at the importance of that particular Hogsmeade visit. I knew Tom to be proud, in a nigh aristocratic way, and could not fathom that he had simply chosen to travel in such a way that would otherwise have been degrading to him, unless it held a greater, prefabricated purpose.

"You cannot evade my question, you know," I told him, wincing as I pressed my knee into a loosened rock.

His pace temporarily slowed, though he did not turn to look at me after I had spoken. "I suppose not. You are far too observant for that." He sighed. "The existence of this passageway was made known to me most recently," he confessed. "I would not have known of it but by word of mouth, as the statue does not exude distinct traces of enchantment—"

"Unless it is scrutinized more closely," I finished, nodding. "But who—?"

"A former acquaintance," he answered cryptically. It would be a long time, I knew, before he would divulge anything further.

Minutes began to meld together, and as we continued to crawl forth I had not an idea of the time that had passed. I had no perception of where I was, and it felt as though we were crawling through absolute nothingness, or at least staying in one place, for the passage ahead and behind us was the same: in both directions, it stretched on.

And yet, just as I parted my lips to query of how much longer we were to go, Tom halted suddenly, shifting in the narrow space to face me. A small clump of dirt fell at our feet in the center of the distance between us, and I recoiled as it upset a thin cloud of dust toward my face.

Until then, I had forgotten of the item which Tom had brought clenched within his grasp, yet the moment my wandlight once more fell upon him, I gasped.

"We might have been in need of it," he shrugged, and handed me the invisibility cloak which I had thought lay protectively hidden at the bottom of my trunk. For the second time in however long it had been I was flabbergasted and speechless. I watched numbly as Tom constructed a compact box from what seemed to be thin air, then proceeded to take the cloak from my hands. For a second, I strengthened my grasp upon it and searched to meet Tom's eyes with my own.

"Wait," I commanded softly, and his eyes flickered with surprise. "How did you acquire this from my belongings?" I furrowed my brow in distress. "And why might we have needed it? I know that something is to happen today, though you have told me nothing of it. This is not simply about bending rules, these precautions."

I moistened my lips with my tongue, for they had suddenly seemed unbearably dry.

Tom frowned. "I do not wish to tell you just yet what is to occur today, for I promise you will know soon enough. I doubt that we will be in danger, and to worry any further than you have will cause more harm that that which has already been planned."

"But how did you acquire this?" I persisted, his words slipping over me without first registering in my mind.

He waved his hand with an air of impatience. "There are many ways to summon objects, Danielle, most especially those whose preference is to remain hidden. It was simply a matter of timing. I did not ransack or defile your possessions, if that is your true concern."

If I had not known Tom as I did, I would have mistaken the expression within his eyes as hurt; as it was, it took more than a moment to realize that it was not.

I shook my head. "I know you would not do such a thing. I trust you, Tom."

He nodded, then folded the cloak into the box. Turning from me, he pressed against the ceiling of the passageway until it gave way into a concealed trap door. Coughing, for the unearthed dirt had fallen upon his face, he pulled himself through the newly-made opening.

-

The village of Hogsmeade was a beautiful sight to behold, draped in the lay white garments of winter. Colored lights had been strung across the faces of the buildings, and even suspended in the air between them. Though a light snow had fallen earlier in the day, it had been tread upon such a numerous amount of ties that the majority of it had been reduced to a sodden mass. Although, even then, large drifts of white huddled against the sides of the shops as though embracing a lover.

The chilled air brought a healthy redness to my cheeks, and I pulled my scarf more tightly around my neck to retain the warmth beneath it as we strolled through the village streets. I had forgotten my gloves in the Ravenclaw dormitory, though with Tom's hand in mine, it made little difference that I had.

My lips shook with want to beam widely as I looked upon the festivities surrounding us. From time to time, my eyes shifted to Tom, yet each occasion I did so, his expression was the same: his mouth was set in a thin line, and his dark eyes were watchful, waiting.

It had been less than an hour before I realized that we had traversed a small circle within the village thrice without pausing the visit the shops. Each time, we had passed a stout clock tower which seemed to display more than the time, as well as the Hog's Head, though the windows were darkened with grime and absence of light. I eyed the latter uneasily for a moment, for I had glimpsed a flicker of movement within.

"We have gone in circles, Tom," I commented lightly. "Is there not a place that we may go before this event of yours takes place?"

Our crunching steps slowed to a halt.

"Even Dervish and Banges, or Madam Puttifoot's—"

"No," he said quickly, and I started in surprise. "Not there." He glanced at the clock once more, though it lay across the road.

My eyes widened. "Where is it _safe_, Tom?" I prompted.

"The Three Broomsticks, though I cannot accompany you there. I do not wish to leave you, yet the time approaches that I—"

"_Nor do I_, Tom. I had hoped to spend this day with you, but you will not allow it to be so!"

He looked at me strangely for a long minute. "You would wish to place yourself in such danger, Danielle?"

I nodded, a braver gesture than I at first thought it to be.

"Then come, we must make haste."

-

Just as the windows had been, the interior of the Hog's Head was of a filthy quality reminiscent of the passageway we had crawled through an hour before. It smelled of damp soil which had long since begun to rot, and the entirety of the surfaces were coated with a thick layer of substance that contained things I chose not to imagine. When the door came closed with a shrill creak behind Tom and I, all sounds from the outside became silenced. My entry into the pub elicited stares from its few occupants, and all eyes were upon me. Not once were their shadowed glances directed upon Tom, as though he were a usual visitor. And it was not long before I realized this to be the truth.

"Do not move from my side," he warned beneath his breath, so that only I could hear. His caution was unnecessary, for though I had not been there before, I felt instantaneous distrust for it. So much so that I nearly feared I should not have insisted upon coming.

I raised my chin to feign an air of haughtiness about me as Tom proceeded to the most remote part of the room. There, the shadows lengthened as the crevices and knots in the wooden walls grew. Tom extended his wand and traced a crude figure into the wall, tough it disappeared so quickly that I had not the time to distinguish of what it had been.

Suddenly, the wood seemed to melt away to form the shape of a door, and soon a tarnished silver knob appeared. With a click, it turned, and the door fell away, admitting us into a small room. In spite of its size, however, it was of a far more cleanly quality than its adjoining counterpart, and was furnished with a single, polished table, around which sat a group of Slytherins.

"Lord Voldemort!" a boy greeted, like a statue suddenly coming to life. Tom declined his head briefly in acknowledgement, and I gripped his arm tightly.

"My friends," he said smoothly. His tone was an enormous contrast to what I was accustomed to it being. He did not attempt to introduce me, though I minded this less than the unabashed stares I was receiving.

"What is Parmellie doing here?" the girl I recognized as Druella Rosier questioned with disdain. The corner of her lip turned upward in a sneer.

"Silence, Rosier!" Tom commanded, his eyes flashing. "You are not here to question my company. You are present before me because you wish to prove yourselves to me. And I wish to be assured that you are capable of what you have pledged to me." His gaze was cold and unfaltering. "I have returned to you only to remind you of this, and should you fail, I will become gravely disappointed." And with that, he led me from the room, murmurs in our wake.

I was befuddled at the brief meeting Tom had led, unsure of its purpose. Although, I supposed that it had held greater meeting for the small congregation inside the pub. I asked Tom what his _friends_ were to do, and he replied that it was merely a test, it not a demonstration of the power he possessed.

And at that moment, a shrill scream sounded behind us, piercing the air and bringing closure to all other sounds around us. With a gasp, I looked over my shoulder just as Dervish and Banges erupted in flames. It was as if, in a single second, the seams which held the village together had burst, a chaotic frenzy released. My eyes caught Druella's for a fraction of a minute, and I froze as she pulled a hood and mask over her head, obscuring her face.

My heart pounded irrepressibly fast, and my limbs quivered with the sheer terror that had turned into a common feeling in the air around me. Above the horrified cries I could hear Tom shouting my name, yet my vision and hearing seemed to swim.

-

"Scivenshaft's Quill Shop was the next to be burned, then Madam Puttifoot's and Gladrags Wizardwear in turn," I tell Albus. I am breathless, for it feels as though I am once more living the terrifying event which I have just described. My forehead is dampened with perspiration. "Tom spotted Hagrid through the rush of wizards and told him to carry me to the castle, for by then I had fainted."

"It was a terrible date, I recall," Albus agrees, and an expression of concern crosses his face. He quickly conjures a glass of water from the air and offers it to me. I accept it in gracious silence.

When I have calmed, I continue. "It is still frightening, as you have noticed, that I was present at the initiation of the first Death Eater rally. I remember awakening in the Hospital Wing surrounded by those with far more grievous injuries than I."

I pause, thoughtful. "Hagrid was there, though Tom was not. I did not see him for a day after, when I was released. And it was only that long because I had received a head injury upon fainting." I smile, though it is dripping with bitterness. For a moment, I expect Albus to interrupt me, though his hands remain placidly folded in his lap, and he does not speak.

"I remember the ill feeling within me that remained for several days. It seemed as though it had taken me that long to realize what precisely I had witnessed, for I remained in a shocked state that would allow me to process little.

"We had hoped to go away for Christmas that year, though we had not discussed where we were to have gone, exactly. I suppose now it is better that we did not." I sigh. "I might have been disappointed. Not to say, of course, that I was not already, for I spent that Christmas in the Hospital Wing. Much to my embarrassment, I collapsed shortly after I was free to return to the normality of life."

-

On Christmas morning, I wakened to a soft stream of sunlight upon my face, warming the blankets of the small bed upon which I lay. For a moment, I could not remember where I was, in spite of the fact that I had been there for days upon end already. From where I rested, I could see the windows around me clouded with melting ice and persistent snow.

Remembering the date, I first looked at the beds around me, then my own. While we shared the same misfortune of being in the Hospital Wing on that particular day, at the other patients' feet laid a large pile of parcels, their brightly colored wrappings glittering in the unexpected sunlight. At my own feet were but two such parcels, though the smaller of which had been wrapped in brown paper and string.

To my surprise and delight when I looked to my left, I discovered Tom, his head resting against my mattress as he still dozed. He seemed only to be sleeping lightly, however, for, as if he sensed I no longer slept, he jerked awake. I grinned at the disheveled state of his hair, which I had always seen as perfect before. He blinked several times, and for a moment, there was such an innocence about him that it astounded me—and passed quite quickly.

"Happy Christmas, Tom!" I beamed, suddenly feeling giddy. He leaned across the bed to kiss me in response, and I giggled against his lips in spite of my self.

"You are certainly spirited today, Danielle," he commented, sitting next to me.

I blushed. "I cannot help it, it would seem. It _is_ Christmas." Suddenly, I remembered that I had not had the time to purchase a gift for him. I furrowed my brow, instantly sobered.

"I do understand that you have been ill, Danielle," he said, leaning against me affectionately. I blinked at him, for it was as if he had known my thoughts. At the time, I was not assured of the truth of this. "But never mind. I see you have gifts of your own."

"More than I expected," I admitted, gathering the parcels into my lap.

I took the brown one first, and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw that it was from Hagrid. There was a brief note scrawled upon the paper, wishing me a happy Christmas and for an improvement in my health. I smiled at this fondly, recalling how he had visited me in the days before. Tom shifted and made a small noise beside me, though I pretended I did not know why.

Inside was the crudely-carved figure of a cat, washing its small wooden paws. I stroked it for a second as though it was real, touched that he had taken the time to craft such a gift for me. Then I gently placed it aside, examining the second gift with much less enthusiasm. It was a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a present from the Hogwarts Nurse out of sympathy.

"Well," I shrugged. "That seems to be all."

"Yet nothing is ever what it seems," Tom said quietly.

Slowly, I turned to him, and he opened his hand to reveal a small green box. I took it from him gently. "My gift to you," he explained simply. "Though, it has been rightfully yours for quite some time."

Quizzically, I opened the lid, then gasped.

The ring was silver, and left a pleasantly cool feeling upon my skin when he slid it onto my finger. Thin tendrils wreathed along the sides, coming together to encircle the petite diamond in the center, minute emeralds flaking either side as though guarding it. It was more than I had ever expected to receive in a lifetime, and I wept into Tom's opened arms.

My eyes shine at the memory, and even Albus cannot conceal his almost saddened smile. "It is difficult to imagine that Tom has ever behaved as such."

"Indeed," he nods. "I would not believe it except for that fact that you have just told it to me."

Before I disappear into my thoughts once more, Albus continues. "However, I am curious to know, if you will allow me to step backward for a moment—into an entirely different manner—the fate of your invisibility cloak. If I remember correctly, you didn't have the chance the retrieve it that afternoon."

I chuckle. "Indeed, and I never did. All thought of it slipped from my mind entirely thereafter. I have not thought of it until now, which I admit seems so very careless of me, to have lost such an invaluable item."

"It is my suspicion, Ms. Riddle," he says at length, "that your cloak did not remain unfound for long. And, if my suspicion is correct, as I do not doubt it is, then it is still of some use to this very day."


	31. Ghost Stories

**Chapter Thirty-one:  
Ghost Stories**

With Tom's frequent visits, my health steadily improved and I was allowed to return to my dormitory before the eve of the new year. The Ravenclaw Tower was empty, and though I had anticipated it, there was still a certain minute shock at being so alone. None of my House-mates had elected to stay at the castle for the holidays, and while I enjoyed the reprieve from those who had always shunned me, I still felt more desolate than before. It was often that I wished I remained still in the Hospital Wing, where at least Tom could stay with me if he chose. Although, with he being the only Slytherin at Hogwarts at the time, we spent nigh every moment of daylight together.

After the near-ruination of Hogsmeade, the school was guarded heavily by the Ministry of Magic. It was, they explained, to prevent the elusive terrorists from seeping through our walls. I had frowned at this as I read the bulletin posted in the corridor, and beside me, Tom had been equally as silent. When I looked upon his face to see his reaction, his expression was blank and unreadable. Allegedly, they had also begun to reconstruct the shops within the village which had been burned. To further ensure the safety of the students, all scheduled trips there would be cancelled for the remainder of the year. Though I was Head Girl, I had not power to reverse this, and thus we were to be confined to the grounds. However, I did not mind this as much as I knew would our peers, and as I expected, Tom and I were cornered by students of all Houses when the holidays concluded.

The first week of the new term, we made ourselves scarce to avoid these angry confrontations, and soon they became nonexistent, as they accepted that nothing could be done. Tom had also gone to Headmaster Dippet to request that another notice be posted, explaining the board's decision was not subject to change. From that point on, we could freely walk the halls as he had before.

That January, there was one morning that would cause nearly as much of an uproar as the one we had just experienced. The night before, the castle had been buffeted with heavy gusts of wind which sent a cold, hard rain at a slant against the windows and stones. I had lain awake, my knuckles white from clasping the blankets of my bed about my chin as thunder rolled across the sky. I had always been fond of rain: the way it felt upon my skin, and the damp sort of smell the air exuded just before the droplets reached the ground. Yet it had been a full-fledged storm, and the entirety of the school had reverberated with the force of it until the early hours of the morning.

My first class was History of Magic, and I had to stifle a yawn as I walked to my desk at the end of the second row. My eyes blinked rapidly, as though at any moment I would drift off to sleep. Soon, I was tempted to do precisely so, and I laid my head upon the surface of my desk. So great was my exhaustion that it was several minutes before I realized just how quiet the room had remained.

Raising my head from my arms, I glanced about, my mind unfocused and my movements lethargic. Yet in an instant, my senses sharpened. The classroom was full of its habitual occupants, though the expressions plastered across their faces much differed from the usual. Their gazes were fixed solely upon the front of the room, their eyes widened and mouths agape–one even twisted grotesquely in a silent scream. Alarmed, I followed the direction of their eyes with my own, and what I saw forced a gasp from my lips.

His skin had always held a sickly pale color, yet now the entirety of his being was translucent in nature. The spots upon his face which marked his age gleamed prominently silver, as did the formerly white tufts of hair protruding from his head. Professor Binns, who had been absent from class several days prior, had passed from flesh to ghost, and was now examining the words of a heavy tome silently.

At first, worry clenched at my stomach, for I could not suppress the thought that perhaps Tom was somehow involved. Would he strive even for the assassination of a teacher? And if so, what circumstances had surrounded such a horrible act? I unconsciously glanced about, as if searching for the dark eyes that would answer my questions. Yet after a moment or so, I shook my head at my own foolishness. The man had been one of the oldest I had ever encountered, and his demise was inevitable, regardless of how suspicious it might have seemed. In my mind, I berated myself for my ever-surfacing distrust of Tom–though perhaps it was because I had grown accustomed to accepting the acts he had in the past committed.

I returned my attention to the present, just as the hand of a girl in the furthermost row shot into the air. The entirety of my peers seemed to emerge from their frozen states to regard her with pressing curiosity.

"P-Professor?" she stammered, her eyes reflecting horror.

The ghost glanced at her sharply, and she cringed.

"Yes, Miss Hornby?"

Her mouth opened and quivered, yet it seemed that that which she had intended to voice had died within her throat. The pale shadow of the man who had once taught us–and appeared to intend to do so still–had spoken, and even his common words had us transfixed. They were unearthly; though I had heard the Hogwarts ghosts converse amongst themselves on many occasions, their voices had seemed ordinary in comparison. I supposed that this was because one did not often hear a voice laced with breath one day, and the next, have the very life drained from it.

"Sir," a boy at last inquired, "has Professor Dippet been informed of your condition?" His query echoed my own thoughts just then, though Professor Binns seemed affronted.

"My condition?" he echoed hollowly. "I am afraid that I do not understand the meaning of your inquiry." His already present frown deepened as the boy, too, failed to continue. "Now, if there are no further questions, I shall resume our contemplation of Burdock Muldoon's classification of a 'being,' in the sense..."

As his voice fell into his somewhat regular, monotonous tone, my eyes narrowed. He seemed to know nothing of his recent passing, or perhaps such a thing did not concern him–he had been so near to death before that nigh nothing had changed. I found myself listening to naught but my inner contemplations, the concept of death suddenly becoming fascinating. Later, I would come to wonder what else had subconsciously inspired such morbidity.

Time passed quickly, and soon the bell tolled. Before I realized it, I had gathered my parchment–for once, void of writing–and quill into my bag, the blank sheets falling between the pages of a book, and had started down the corridor in the direction opposite of the one I regularly would have intended. As had oft times happened before, my legs felt to have a will of their own. Though I was traveling against the flow of my peers, no one cast a glance at me, in spite of the fact that I felt oddly conspicuous.

It was only when I had reached its door did I notice where I had led myself to: the Staff Lounge. I paused with my hand uncertainly suspended above the knob, my brow furrowed slightly as I wondered why I had unconsciously chosen this location. Surely it was more logical to visit Headmaster Dippet in his office. Deciding that perhaps luck would have me catch him inside, I turned the handle and entered.

As Head Girl, I–as well as Tom–had been admitted into two such rooms on various occasions, in particular the one into which I had just stepped. That year, there were four, one to represent each of the Hogwarts Houses, scattered about the castle. At the time, there were not as many students attending as there would be in the years to come, thus the empty classrooms had been converted to be suitable for other use.

Instantly, my nose twitched and my eyes began to water, for there was an unusually pungent odor floating upon the air. The walls, tinted a dark shade of blue, seemed to swim before me as an enormous blast of heat stung my eyes at the sudden cool air I had let in. Cautiously, I stepped further into the room, and squinted. I seemed to be completely alone; it was void even of the House Elves that might have chosen to linger a bit to tend to things, and the only sound was the steady crackling coming from the fireplace–the cause of the excessive warmth.

Feeling foolish–and further pressed to locate the Headmaster–I turned, when something caught my eye. Later, I would not remember what compelled me to remain for a moment longer, yet at the time, my eyes were trained upon a single armchair, whose back faced me. It stood alone, directly in front of the large fireplace, and was not like in design to any other piece present. I stepped closer, then froze. Upon one arm of the chair rested a hand, the owner of which I could not see.

Hope briefly trilled within me; I thought perhaps I could inform the dozing professor of the recent death in the faculty.

"Excuse me," I said, approaching. "I must apologize for waking you, but... but–"

My words fell frozen to the floor, and I shrieked, recoiling in horror. It was by no means an unpleasant sight, and had I not known otherwise, I would have detected nothing unusual. For I was then looking upon the corpse of Professor Binns, and the foul odor became all the more apparent.

As I stumbled backward several steps, my hands flew to cover my mouth. Though death had left traces of its clammy touch all around me in the past, I had never truly seen what it left in its wake. I had not even seen my parents after their passing, and fleetingly, I was thankful for this. A body was so much more frightening once it had grown cold.

I vaguely heard footsteps, and moments later, someone came to a stop just outside the room; I could not pry myself from that which lay before me.

"Miss Parmellie, are you alright? I heard a scream." I recognized the voice of Professor Slughorn, the potions master, and wished to reply, but found that words failed me.

"Dear girl, whatever is–" There was suddenly a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my..."

The man grasped my shoulders and steered me away from the chair; once it had disappeared from my sigh, I rapidly blinked, as though emerging from a trance.

"Professor!" I gasped, regaining my voice. "I must inform Professor Dippet! Professor Binns has become a ghost!"

Slughorn stopped abruptly, forgetting momentarily his small attempt to comfort me. "Are you certain of this?"

I nodded. "Yes Sir, I am. He continued our lesson this morning as if nothing at all had happened."

His face became troubled. "This is a grave matter indeed. I'll alert my colleagues this very moment!" His hands left my shoulders, and he hurried toward the door from whence he had come. "You'll be alright?" he inquired, hesitating at the threshold. "I ought to take you to the Hospital Wing..."

"I am fine," I confirmed, and with that in mind, he rushed away.

I stumbled from the room with a feeling of nausea clenching at me, and the coolness of the outside corridor did little to lessen it. By then, the halls were empty; even the slowest of students had safely found their way to their respective classes.

My footfalls echoed in the vast openness as I awkwardly traveled to the nearest girls' lavatory. This, too, was empty, though I took little notice of it upon my arrival. As my insides seemed to lurch, I put my hand against the tiled wall to steady myself. The feeling died soon after, and I turned to the nearest sink. I could nigh already feel the coolness of the water upon the perspiring skin of my face.

It was only when the tap did not turn that I realized precisely where I was. The small etching of a snake was still apparent upon it, and I felt the weight of the locket which still hung about my neck: my key to the Chamber of Secrets, which Tom had promised had been sealed. As if forgetting this, I backed away, thus distancing the key from the Chamber's entrance.

"You look a wreck," a voice observed from behind me. Startled, I quickly swivelled to find myself facing yet another ghostly apparition.

"Oh God," I moaned, my hand once more clasped firmly over my mouth. The ghost, clad in Hogwarts robes, peered at me through her spectacles, her amusement apparent.

"_You're_ the Head Girl," she stated suddenly, looking at me more closely. "I've heard them talking about you." Then she straightened and smiled delightedly. "You're supposed to be in class!"

"I do not have class now," I lied, and her transparent face was overcome with skepticism. I had wavered from the truth convincingly almost never, though recently, I had begun to improve. This time, it seemed, I had once more failed.

Just then, I was struck with a thought. "You are that girl," I began slowly, "that Tom got killed."

She drew herself up stiffly. "Tom?" she echoed. "_I_ don't know any Toms, except for Tom Riddle, of course." She giggled. "The very good looking one." Abruptly, her expression clouded to one that resembled anger. "And what do you mean, 'that girl that Tom got killed'? I've got a name, but no one ever remembers. Not even Head Girl Parmellie. And I wasn't gloriously murdered, if that's what you're implying." The ghost tossed her nose in the air.

I studied her in befuddlement, though she pretended to take no notice. Perhaps her murder had been unintentional and without glory–a concept I could not quite grasp–yet it had not been a natural death all the same. I could not decide if it was for the better that she remained ignorant of the circumstances of her demise.

"I am sorry," I murmured, perhaps apologizing for more than just myself. Oddly, I felt somehow that it had been by some fault of mine that this former student had looked into the eyes of the Basilisk. Tom had been careless, I knew, yet I wondered if I could have prevented such an occurrence. Or perhaps, I shuddered to think, I would have merely taken her place had I happened to have interfered. A chill ran along my spine and my arms prickled with gooseflesh. What if I had become more of a ghost than I already was?

-

That evening, I had once more delved into the library and had ensconced myself in a mound of books. Yet another privilege of being who I was that year was that I was granted access to the Restricted Section whenever I pleased. I had not required its use exceptionally often as Tom had, and so without is aid, my search had begun slow and awkward. Soon enough, however, I had been able to discover how it was organized, and I had quickly plucked volumes from their shelves; once I had a considerable collection, I had begun to read.

"Danielle?" Tom's voice interrupted my study. He picked his way through the books I had discarded and came to stand beside me. He was breathing slightly more heavily than usual, and his pale cheeks were tinged with a faint glow, as though he had been exercising extensively.

"Hello, Tom," I greeted, my fingertips resting upon the word I had last read to keep my place.

"I have been searching for you. Slughorn informed me that it was you who discovered Binns."

The memory of what I had seen briefly flashed through my mind, and I nodded, swallowing. Then at length, I softly asked, "What was it like for you, the first time you looked upon a corpse." I sighed. "I know that it can hardly compare to... to watching someone die, yet..." I struggled to find the correct words; when I found none, I shrugged.

He considered. "I have not seen many die–not yet, perhaps–and a body is naught but a body to me now. I am sure that my feelings and yours have differed in this matter greatly."

I shook my head. "I know, Tom, for I expected as much."

"I was... _unnerved_," he admitted after a pregnant pause, "in the very beginning. It is difficult for anyone when something new confronts them, thus in that way, my reaction was akin to yours. Yet they part, for I was unnerved by the fragility of life: how easily it could be broken and stolen away."

He glanced down at the opened book upon the table before me, and smiled lightly. "'A choice most important must be made," he read, "and a soul departed in fresh doth remain, not in blood nor flesh nor bone, but in shadowed spirit.' Perhaps our thoughts were not so far apart after all.

"Yet the very first time, Danielle," he continued, "I was overcome with reverence for the power that could be possessed; that one such as myself could bring about death. It is the ultimate finality, the very last word in a dispute."

"Do you fear death, then?" I inquired, and he looked at my strangely.

"It is something to be feared."

"The girl that the Basilisk killed, she became a ghost. I met her today. She did not know how she died. I also fear death, Tom, for I am afraid that this fate will befall me as well. A fate worse than death."

He placed his hand over my own comfortingly. "There is nothing worse than death," he assured me, though I was not so sure.


	32. The Secret Society of Slytherins

**Chapter Thirty-two:  
The Secret Society of Slytherins**

It was weeks later, when talk of the death of Professor Binns had slowly begun to subside, that Tom confronted me on a subject of which I had become wary.

For a time, I had become nigh what one would call a celebrity. Human beings, I knew, were morbid creatures, who delighted in the gossip of death and destruction, and so the retelling of what I had discovered—exactly as I had discovered it—seemed to turn into a highlight of my peers' conversation. In the beginning, I had enjoyed the attention, as anyone relatively unpopular might. Yet soon, I grew weary of recounting my horrific adventure, and there was no longer any pleasure to it as the words rolled automatically from my mouth, as though they left blisters upon my tongue.

-

One afternoon during Ancient Runes, I felt a slip of parchment being Banished into my lap as I contemplated the translations that had been assigned. Startled, I glanced about; after several moments of searching had passed, I looked at Tom, who was seated beside me. There were very few seventh years who had decided to take the subject, and so members of the four Houses who chose to do so were combined into a single class.

Unexpectedly, I discovered that Tom had been looking at me for what seemed to have been quite some time, and when our gazes met, his expression became meaningful. Comprehending, I plucked the parchment from my lap and commenced to discreetly untold it. I looked to Tom once more, but he had returned his attention to the assignment.

_You have asked me of this before_, it read, _and that is why I feel I must tell you that it is my intention to hold another Death Eater meeting._

He had explained to me in passing once that this was the name he had chosen for his secret society of Slytherins. The ones who called him "Lord Voldemort." The initials, I had noted, were to same as the letters which had been the heading of the list of names I had found.

_Those present will be the same as before_, it continued. I frowned. Upon further inspection, the parchment upon which the note had been written seemed to have been torn from something.

-

This time, it is I who interrupts my tale as I pause, remembering. "I do not believe," I say, "that I mentioned before what it was that I did to the diary I found and gave to Tom so many years ago."

Albus stirs, and I notice the glint of curiosity flickering through his blue eyes. "Indeed, Ms. Riddle, I have been wondering that very thing myself," he admits easily, as though he has been anticipating his reply far longer than it has taken me to voice this statement.

I nod, feigning that I have not noticed this. "It began just as it appeared to be at first glance, of course: simply a blank diary. Or perhaps by that time, all traces of ink would have long-since vanished. No matter the case, however, the sole aspect that made it more than ordinary was the heavy preservation charm upon the diary itself, though it had begun to weaken from the dankness in which it was for centuries stored."

I pause for a moment, then continue. "It was initially the remaining fragments of this charm that had such an effect upon it after I began to tamper with it. It was stronger magic than I expected, I admit; in truth, I did little magic of my own. My first spell was one that merely resulted in the invisibility of words after they had first been written." I furrow my brow in sudden thought.

"No, invisibility was simply my intent. The spell fused with that which was preexisting, so that when penned, the letters left the surface entirely and seeped into…" I struggle to find an appropriate word. "Into the very heart of it. The writing was stored there, rather than upon the parchment itself. If it was so desired, a single page would be used an infinite amount of times, and would never have been filled.

"It was a different matter to read the diary then, however. Common revealing spells would not have brought forth what had been entered, though its writer—Tom—could view it with ease by simply opening the diary. It has been to long to recall the precise incantation I used, though I likely found it in the Restricted Section of the library—one of the few times I utilized it before my seventh year."

Suddenly, my eyes widen in remembrance. "Albus," I begin slowly, "I believe that it was you who granted me permission to do so."

He chuckles softly, which greatly startles me. I have expected a reaction much different from this, and I know he realizes this, so he prompts, "Minerva was present as well. Yes, Ms. Riddle, I do recall that day in astute detail, though I am afraid that she distracted me from attending to you as perhaps I should have done."

"You could not have known how I intended to se it, Albus," I tell him, wondering if this is truly what he means, "or what the diary was to become. Even I did not know of such things at the time."

He remains silent, which indicates that our lines of thinking are indeed crossed, or were at least in the moment which just passed.

I have forgotten of Minerva being but two years my senior, and most especially that we had once encountered in Albus' former classroom. She has become a ghost in my memory, as though my mind has attempted to obliterate her from it entirely. I do not remember if I ever spoke to her before or after it.

Wrenching myself from these thoughts, I return to those which had originally come into my mind.

"Anyone other than Tom would have had to have known how to _look_ at the diary: how to handle it. When I presented it as a gift to Tom, it was assured that to be read, a wand would be required to be pointing directly into its spine. To reveal the writing, a nonverbal spell was needed—a spell which had no exact verbal counterpart."

"I trust, then," Albus says, speaking at last, "that this particular spell was of your own creation? In the past, there were rumors of an Unspeakable with similar abilities. I have heard this was quite an accomplishment, something her fellows could never quite master." He nods nigh respectfully to me, and I flush at the subtle compliment. Albus is the only one who remembers my former occupation.

"Yes," I reply, flustered but pleased in spite of myself. "Although I am sure you yourself could boast of such talents."

"Yet never so well as their inventor," he deflects, smiling gently. "And perhaps not as much as I might like. Though that is a matter I am sure will unravel itself in due course."

I nod in agreement. "For the present, however…"

"Continue, by all means," he prompts, and I comply.

-

Instantly, I recognized the shape and thickness of the parchment, realizing that it had been taken from Tom's diary. My frown increased as I watched the lettering fade until the mottled surface was once more blank. I dipped the tip of my quill into an inkwell, and in response inquired, _When is it to take place?_ With a flick of my wand, the parchment had folded itself and flown into Tom's awaiting hand.

We continued in this manner for some time, our translations temporarily forgotten. When the note was returned to me for the second time, I was satisfied to see that the words which had formerly disappeared now gleamed at me as though they were still freshly penned. Beneath my own queries he responded and by the time a quarter of an hour had come to pass, I was preparing to attend another Death Eater meeting, this time in the Slytherin common room, for the former meeting place they had unintentionally rendered inaccessible. My heart momentarily flared into a nervous flutter at the prospect of once more facing those who viewed me with obvious dislike, yet as if reading my thoughts, his fingers brushed against mine.

"They will look upon you as one of them now," he whispered, abandoning the parchment to speak aloud. "Yet soon they will learn they are mistaken: their worth is nothing to compare to yours."

That night after completing our duties as Head Boy and Girl, Tom and I met at the top of the staircase which led to the dungeons below. The corridors had quieted, as the curfew had already passed, and our footsteps echoed in our cavernous surroundings. Even if Tom had not led me through the darkened passages, I could easily have found my way, so many times I had come to traverse them

Just as we passed through the entrance of the Slytherin common room, our ears were met with snatches of argued conversation. I scanned the room, and after a moment, my gaze fell upon a small group encircling a chair, the back of which faced us. Swiftly, Tom strode toward them, noiselessly coming to stand behind the boy who appeared to be the one speaking. Tentatively, I crept closer until I was able to hear what was being said. To my surprise, in the chair sat a sullen-looking girl, who was glaring at the boy as he snarled at her.

"What is this, Abraxas?" Tom inquired coolly, and the boy froze.

After recovering, he gestured to the girl. "It's Prince," he sneered, his face flushed. "Thinks she's good enough to stick around when everyone else has gone to bed like they've been told." The girl said nothing, and it seemed that indeed she had yet to open her mouth at all.

"The others have left, then?" Tom asked, drawing me to his side.

"Yes, Lord Voldemort," Abraxas confirmed. "All except this filthy excuse for a Pureblood." I feared that he would spit upon her.

Tom considered for a moment, then at length said, "Allow her to remain if she so chooses."

Abraxas laughed uneasily. "The captain of the Gobstones team hardly has a place here. And I wouldn't put it past her to betray—"

"Then her memory can be easily be modified," Tom cut in evenly, and the boy looked defeated.

"Of course," he nodded quietly.

Tom's eyes lingered upon the girl briefly, and I realized that he was evaluating her in some way. From the faint expression that glinted within his eyes, it seemed that she found truth in the boy's words. Disinterested, he turned and walked to another place in the common room, and the group—save the girl—followed.

When I seated myself beside him, all eyes were instantly drawn to me as they had been the first time, though Druella Rosier, I noticed, remained silent. At length, it was an older boy who spoke.

"She is here with you again?" he asked uncertainly.

"Of course. There is no reason for her not to be."

After that, as Tom had assured me would occur, they queried no further and seemed to accept my presence among them. There was little more talk at first, for Tom had fallen into a silence that indicated he was thinking, and out of respect, they did not interrupt this. It was for me uncomfortable to sit in such absence of conversation—though on a usual occasion, I might have relished it—yet the remaining Slytherins were at ease, as though they had grown accustomed to it.

"We convened last in December," he said at last, and there was a great stirring amongst the group as they each looked up at him. "And the results were as satisfying as I could have desired. I apologize for the length of time it has taken to tell you this; there were other matters that needed to be attended to."

I wondered at what these matters had been, knowing that few of them had likely involved me. Yet we had not been apart for great amounts of time, so it was difficult to imagine what he had done and when he had found an opportunity to do it. From the curious expressions splashed across the faces around me, it was apparent that they too desired to know, though not even I would ask into it.

"I have also called this meeting for reasons more than simply praise," he continued, gazing at each of us in turn. We listened, enraptured, as he told us of what he had planned. At first, I had expected something similar in nature to the burning of Hogsmeade, yet I was surprised to discover that this was not so. Instead, he discussed with us matters that went beyond Hogwarts, after he and our fellow seventh years had left the school.

As the night pressed on, he informed us of his desire to return as a teacher, much to my astonishment, and indeed that of the others as well. Yet it made perfect sense, the more I pondered it, for what better way would there be to collect and train followers of himself and the Dark Arts? Although, I found it strange that he had gained work from Mr. Burke when it was his intention to follow a different occupation. He was planning something else that he chose not to divulge, or was preparing for something, I did not know which.

My mind drifted from this and I returned my attention to Tom, who seemed to be approaching the conclusion of his speech.

"It is my hope," he was saying, "that each of you will educate as many as possible, whilst we have temporarily gone our separate ways. If you are successful, you will return to me when the time is right, and we will have the strength to force our intentions into reality."


	33. The Other Chamber

**Chapter Thirty-Three:  
The Other Chamber**

Nigh in a literal manner did February melt away into March, the month quietly passing like frost softly dripping from a skeletal tree branch. Tom had not brought his Death Eaters together since I had last met with them in the Slytherin Common Room; and it appeared that he did not intend to do so again, just as he had hinted of before. Thus the weeks were wonderfully peaceful—or as much so as they had the potential to be with the approach of our N.E.W.T.s, as they had deeply earned our concern.

Indeed, it was these examinations which left me unsettled one afternoon, and I paced as I waited for nothing in particular to come. It was one of the few times which I had the freedom to do what I wished when in years past I would have been in a classroom being taught. Instead, it provided an opportunity to simply change roles and teach myself from my many school books. At the time, I did not realize that even that day, I would still learn, though not of things I had expected.

Later, I could not explain what prompted me to walk the seventh floor corridors that day, or why I paused before a particular—and foolish-looking—tapestry. Yet I did so all the same, my fingers idly fidgeting with the sleeves of my robes. I was restless, as my free period had only just begun, and for once I wanted nothing more than for it to end.

Tom was in History of Magic at that moment, I remembered as I passed the tapestry for the second time. There was a stretch of blank wall beside it, and when I neared the end, I abruptly turned to absently march in the direction from which I had come. No doubt he was learning of yet another war amongst the goblins, their misdeeds falling upon his ears in a dull drone. I half-smiled at this before it was abruptly replaced by another thought, and another after that until my mind was spinning endlessly in a thick fog.

That was why, when I passed both wall and tapestry for the third time, I did not at first notice the discrepancy in the surface of the former. I was preparing to turn once more and continue as I had already thrice done, when at last I spotted it: an unfamiliar color in the familiar surrounding grey. When I turned so that I could view it before me in full, my eyes widened, then narrowed in thought.

Protruding slightly from the wall was a door, the wooden boards of it rotting slightly so that a faint light on the other side could be seen. The softened edges were laced with patches of moss, and at a place slightly lower than it should have been was a tiny keyhole.

I neared it curiously, my fingertips hovering a hair's breadth above it as though my touch would cause this apparition to vanish. Yet my hand was unsteady, so soon I had brushed the soft wood.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tug at my neck, an invisible force pulling me forward and causing my head to collide with the boards. As I made to straighten myself, I glanced up and found myself staring directly at a tiny snake, etched just beneath the metal of the keyhole. Other than the deep shade of rust seeping into the indentation, it was the exact replica of something I had first seen so many years ago at the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.

At first, I mistook this to be precisely as the aforementioned chamber was: opened only by Parseltongue. I attempted several phrases and their variations, yet the door remained still—a decaying statue. However, I was struck by another thought before a final hiss had escaped my lips. I spoke only the language of the snakes because of the locket Tom had given me—a locket which had another feature I had almost forgotten of.

I unclasped the chain from around my neck and fumbled with the latch. Moments later, a minute key lay exposed in my palm. With a slight smile of satisfaction, I slipped it gently into place within the keyhole, and turned it. There was a gentle yet distinct click; with a creak, the door swung ajar.

In contrast to the light which had seemed to shine through when the door was shut, the room beyond was dark. Or at least partly so, for threadbare curtains fluttered softly as they flanked a still opened window, framing the grey of the outside.

By the softness beneath my shoes, I could discern the thick layer of dust upon the floor—and could smell it molding, as well. Just beneath the window ledge, the ground was clean; here, all debris had been washed away each time a storm had dripped inside. It was there that I chose to stand while I surveyed the room, holding my lit wand aloft.

It was arranged as a bedroom, fused with an office that reminded me of those the teachers currently possessed. A desk stood in one corner, a leg rotted completely through so that it seemed to sink into the stones below it. There were shards of glass littering the space around it: a shattered inkwell whose contents had long since dried. Near it were the remnants of a bookshelf. In the opposite corner, there was an ornate bed, the entirety of which was perfectly preserved. Both sides were still unmade, and the faint imprints of those who had lain in them remained. Everything else that there might have been was gone.

Through the window was an unfamiliar view of a clearing surrounded by trees I did not know grew upon the grounds. At the center was a monstrous, gnarled oak. Drawn to it somehow, I frowned and struggled to crawl through the window—something I never thought I would do.

Outside, the air was unnaturally still, and of a temperature that made it seem as though it did not exist—like I was walking through nothing, yet something all the same.

Grass grew in a circle around the tree, though nothing but the tree itself seemed to have become overgrown. The branches stretched above my head, bent and twisted so that at the same time it looked unnatural, it seemed just the opposite. At the first fork in the trunk, the bark had been worn smooth: a perfect place to sit and read. I gazed up at it for a moment, wishing to climb into the limb's embrace, but soon I decided it was too high for me to attempt to reach.

With nothing more to see, I turned once more to the window out of which I had come, only to discover that it had disappeared. In its place was another door, like to the one I had first encountered. This time, however, there was no place for a key to be inserted, and no knob to grasp and turn. I suddenly wished very much that Tom had been with me at the discovery of that place. If there had been any other way to return to the well-known parts of the castle, I would have sought him out at once. These thoughts instilled a small fear within me as my mind grasped the fact that this was my only means of escape.

Struck by another fancy, I pointed my wand at the place a lock should have been. "_Alohomora_," I murmured tentatively.

There was another click; I stepped backward at the sound of it, for simultaneously, the door melted into the wall, leaving but an entrance behind.

This room was illuminated by what appeared to be hundreds of candles, their flames not flickering and their wax not melted as if they had never been burned. Yet a thick layer of dust had collected around their bases as well, which I upset when I stepped inside so that the air became clouded. I closed my eyes, and when everything had settled, I opened them once more to look around me.

In the center of the floor there stood an enormous mirror, guarded on either side by two statues: that of a serpent, and that of an eagle. The frame was gilt, and had an inscription at the top that I struggled to read. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_, it said.

My mind immediately reversed the lettering: _I show not your face but your heart's desire_. Yet when I gazed into it, it at first was merely my reflection, though my expression was different, for I was smiling then slowly, two other images seeped forth, one familiar and one not. Tom was the first, standing just beside me. His expression matched my own, though when the third image appeared, a small, dark-haired boy, we turned together to look at him fondly. There was no mistaking that within the mirror, this was our child—and that this was what my heart wanted most.

-

The following afternoon, I returned with Tom, and we repeated my steps of the day before. Although, he spent far longer examining each thing than I had, tapping with his wand all that was there. There was a strange yet familiar look in his eyes as he did so, one that I had been so frightened by in the past but now I had begun to grow accustomed to.

He took particular interest in the tree when I brought him to it. He speculated each leaf and section of bark as though he expected something to be there. And indeed, after several minutes he prodded a knot in the trunk to reveal a hollow interior.

A black cloud rose up to meet us, though as quickly as it had come, it dissipated, leaving a foul, rotting odor in its place. Tom waved it away impatiently with his hand and peered within. It appeared to be empty, yet as I had learned so many times over throughout the course of my life, things were not always what they seemed. For beneath a pile of rot was a thick book, the lettering upon its cover in runes I could only half interpret. Inside, however, toward the center of a blank page at the beginning were those of a different type—much simpler.

_For Rowena_, it read. Below it was the signature of Salazar Slytherin.

-

"I tell you this in great detail, Albus, for it is my hope that you will be able to find it once more. I later learned that this other secret chamber was hidden within the depths of the Room of Requirement, which I do not doubt you know of." I remove the locket from my neck and present the key to Albus, who carefully tucks it away into his robe without questions or protests. Though it is unspoken, I trust he will return it to me when it is no longer of use to him.

I know that I is the wish of the world for Tom to perish, though I would wish for better things—my heart's desire has not much changed over the years. Yet I know as well that I must aid the side I was neither for nor against for decades.

"I am not entirely certain of what still remains inside. It may have been changed by Tom, after he left. I do know that at one point in time, the room was home to a Horcrux, made from something of Rowena Ravenclaw's. It is my guess that it is either the tree or the book, which were the only items he ever discovered of hers while we were together."

"Thank you, Ms. Riddle," he replies softly. "What you have told me is crucial."

I nod, and he eyes me closely, as if still uncertain that I do not mind betraying Tom. Especially when Tom has never so grandly betrayed me.

-

For a reason I could not explain, I was nervous when we first reached the room containing the magical mirror. I was certain that even if we stood side-by-side in front of it, our reflections would differ. But it was that they would differ in a way I did not know which made me most anxious. I had grown to know Tom very well, and yet never had I gazed directly into his head, so I knew not what dwelled there.

The room was just as I had left it, for I had not dared to disturb anything—not even a speck of dust more than was necessary. Once more, Tom's eyes gleamed in a way that candlelight could not induce as he surveyed the room. His mouth, for the first time I could recall, was opened slightly in wonder. Here was a boy who had forgotten himself in the face of a great discovery. This was a different Tom than I knew at first, and different than the one I knew now. This Tom still had a sense of innocence about him—something I came to believe that he never could have possessed. I found his sense of amazement cross my own face as I watched him, captivated by this change.

Yet as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and I had to hastily look away when I saw his eyes turning to meet mine.

Thrice he circled the mirror. His head tilted upward, then downward as he seemed to survey as much of it as was possible. Almost unconsciously, he touched the head of the serpent beside it. When he came to stand before the glass, I tentatively joined him, standing in a place that would allow us both to look upon it.

The familiar scene of Tom and I with a son was instantly displayed. When the mirrored Tom touched my reflection's shoulder, it was as though I could nearly feel it. And when the child placed his hands within my own, I could nigh feel their softness against my skin.

Beside me, the Tom in flesh had let his expression fall into nothingness. There was no soft smile in his eyes or at the corner of his lips, no joy, scrutiny, or disapproval. It was as though he was frozen, transfixed in is farce reflection, for such a long time that I nigh expected him to never move again.

When he did move, however, his tone and appearance gave still nothing away.

"I have seen all that I can," he said simply.

We left then, already late for our respective classes. Neither of us would ask what the other had seen, and never would we be sure in our assumptions.


	34. The Passage of Time

**Author's Notes:** You probably didn't know this, but I update on fanfiction(dot)net when I update on HPFF, except that I'm four chapters behind the latter when I post here. I'm updating so quickly because I have another chapter written, after only a day, amazingly enough, but I can't post it on HPFF because of some complications in the queue hiatus. So, perhaps I'll end up getting caught up here. If you haven't figured it out already, thirty-eight chapters are already written; I expect to end the story at chapter forty, but I will have to see how that goes. Happy holidays, everyone, and thank you for your reviews.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Thirty-Four:  
The Passage of Time

And then it was May. Each passing month had become redundant, for they always slipped by unnoticed by my eyes. I had always looked to Tom to slow time for me, casting an anchor to fit both of our grasps. Yet now we were both like leaves upon the surface of a pond, and he was gliding along beside me leaving no ripples behind.

After our discovery of the other secret chamber, Tom began to search the castle far more extensively than he had before. Although, I could only compare his obsessive scouring to the previous ones about which I knew. In truth, this number was small, yet as the same familiar look had not left his eyes for quite some time, I decided there must have been something different about it. Often I accompanied him, as this time he was appreciative of the extra pair of eyes searching the corners of the castle he had overlooked.

There were many an occasion when he would utilize the time set aside for our duties as Head Boy and Head Girl to delve deeper into the places unexplored—and those already explored a thousand times again. Late into the night he would traverse the school, until, each time, I would have to return to the Ravenclaw Tower with my eyes so blurred with exhaustion I could hardly see. So distracted was he at these times that I could not distinguish whether or not he noticed I had left.

More often than not, his efforts were fruitless, much to his displeasure. There were some secrets, he said, that were kept too well, and those were the ones that should not be kept at all. When he told this to me, I was not sure that I agreed. On one hand, I could not help but feel as curious as he, and longed to know what most others did not. However, it was then his current countenance that was my concern. If nothing else, his hunger would drive him further into the madness I often hoped to forget was there.

It must have been late in April when next a discovery was made, though if perhaps we had considered the idea sooner, we would have found it more quickly. Once again, the Room of Requirement—which we then called the Knowing Room—was to be invaluable to us. After our last visit, Tom had returned in order to discover precisely how it worked. It had not taken long for him to hypothesize and confirm his theories, and so by then he knew the room well.

While whims were my impetus for curiosity, Tom was driven by suspicions, be they sudden or fermented because of the many times they had been considered before. I did not ask which one it was that brought him to the familiar yet still mysterious room, nor did I query what his thoughts were centered about as he paced thrice the stretch of wall in which the door would soon appear. It sufficed to know that when he opened his eyes and went inside, the space was cramped and comprised entirely of earth; it contained but a scroll of parchment, nothing more.

His excitement apparent, he plucked it from the ground and closed the door. Then he paced thrice more and opened it again to reveal a much larger room, much reminiscent to the library. The largest nuance was the fact that there was a single table at the center of the room, closely surrounded by a long, black, circular sofa. It was to this that he immediately went, and I soon followed, closing the door once more behind me.

He carefully spread the parchment out across the dark wood of the table's surface, and I quickly tapped each corner with my wand so they would not curl inward. The entirety of the scroll was covered in writing, and each portion seemed to have been penned by a different hand. There were also a variety of types of runes in places, and a conglomeration of languages surrounding them. There was little I could recognize with only a quick glance, and when I looked at Tom, disappointment was etched across his face. He could not read it either.

"…would have recognized it," he was muttering, clearly frustrated. "…should not have killed him."

I straightened in alarm and lightly brushed my fingers against his hand. He twitched slightly at my touch and glanced up until his eyes met mine.

"Never mind me," he admonished gravely. "The language of this exceeds the knowledge we will obtain here. Even in the Restricted Section, or—" He suddenly stopped. "Of course. How foolish of me." He rose to his feet and strode to the nearest shelf of books, both in seemingly one swift motion.

After a moment, he sharply called my name. "Come," he beckoned. When I was at his side, he continued. "They have not been marked, these shelves, and their organization is, as of yet, vague. I do not doubt that that the languages we desire to translate have references contained within this library…"

"I will search for what I can," I said in response to the question he had not yet asked.

He nodded, and I began to do as I had promised.

-

This became our project for the next week. Tom and I were equally as eager to decipher the parchment, and so it was only logical that we toiled equally as hard, absorbing ourselves into piles of books for hours at a time.

On the day of our initial discovery, we were able to decode the more common languages and the most basic of runes, though these were few in number. These seemed to linger in the corners; at the top right were several forms of Gaelic, between them, German, and French and Latin took the remaining three. It was the center of the scroll that became infuriating to us, as it seemed entirely unwilling to relinquish its secrets.

Tom took to devoting his time to the runes, as he knew more about them than did I, and I concentrated on what remained. So efficient were we in this method that by the following Sunday, we had completed our task.

It was evening when at last the final word was one that we could comprehend; I knew the time of day only from my own weariness. I flexed my fingers, attempting to rid them of their stiffness, and to my left, Tom yawned widely. It took a moment for the realization of what we had just accomplished to sink in, though when it did, we immediately returned our eyes to the parchment. He was so near to it that his nose brushed against it every so often. I retreated and sighed, content to be through. Little did I know that this would lead to far greater things.

Suddenly, I felt Tom stiffen and freeze.

"What is it?" I inquired, peering at the place upon which his eyes seemed to be transfixed.

"A map," he replied. He sounded breathless, and I was startled. "It is a map of Hogwarts."

"How so?" I asked, leaning closer.

With a long forefinger, he began to trace along the parchment where there were prominent gaps between the clusters of words. Then he rotated it slightly, and though the marks were not truly there, in my mind I could discern the outline of the school.

"And here," he said, continuing his unspoken explanation. "'Entrance', it reads, hidden in context. This is the very front of the castle, and here"—he slid his finger forward and to one side—"there is no mistaking the Great Hall."

Instead of being entirely blank as I had expected it to be, the portion which represented the Great Hall had been filled with such a great amount of writing that it looked like a large stain of ink. The majority of it was runes, and so I had not seen it before. Upon inspecting the corresponding section on the sheet we had used to pen our translations, I realized that each sentence represented something else, something that already existed. This was not simply a map of Hogwarts; it documented the precise location of the castle's aspects that would otherwise be unknown. This map revealed everything that Tom had been so madly searching for.

The moment this came to mind, I found his lips briefly upon my own. "This map…" he whispered when he had broken away, his voice now hoarse."All things that I desire to know… all here at my fingertips."

He seemed to caress the map with both his hands and eyes, and then he rose to his feet, carefully rolling it into his grasp. Instinctively, I plucked the translated pages from the table.

"Where?" I questioned; I knew he meant to test the reliability of our newly-discovered information.

"We will begin in the Great Hall. It will be empty at this hour, and if we encounter anyone, it is because we are conducting our nightly patrol of the castle."

It was times such as this that he caught me off guard, for the speed at which his mind functioned, processing and planning in a few seconds' time, seemed nigh unreal. It was as though he had found the map long ago, and was merely reciting a plan that had been successful in the past. All I could do in response was nod and follow him, as I had done so many times before.

-

"This is a part which you will remember, Albus," I say. "I believe that this portion I have told you once, though it was many years ago."

"I _do_ recall," he confirms, though I was already certain of this. He is not one who forgets even the most minutes of details with ease. For a moment, his eyes flicker to the Penseive, which still lies so near that I can feel the cool caress of mist upon me. "I wonder—"

I smile. "Would you like to view it firsthand, Albus?"

"If you have no objection to it… I find that seeing something from a different perspective often helps one to better understand."

The mirth leaves my expression and my smile is now hollow. I do not miss that his second statement is meant for me to consider as well. I know that it is from kindness that he says so, but I cannot help but feel bitterness. "Perhaps I should utilize the Penseive more often, then."

He does not respond; I know he has guessed what I am thinking. Wordlessly, he carefully sets the stone basin directly in front of me and gestures to it. Yet before he has even done so, I have put the tip of my wand to my temple, and I withdraw yet another silvery strand. This one is slightly greater in length and width, and the memory I know to be greater in depth. I let it fall into the Pensieve, stirring it slightly, then I lean forward and plunge inside.

Everything is as I pictured it in my mind as I was telling my tale to Albus. The exactness is night overwhelming, and I must pause a moment before I can move on. I feel Albus at my side, and he touches my arm.

"I am fine," he tell him firmly, though in truth, I am not certain of this, one way or another.

"Of course." I know he will not question me again.

In the time that it has taken for this to pass, my younger self has appeared at the entrance of the darkened Great Hall. Tom is still obscured by the shadows in my wake, though soon he emerges and closes the door behind me, as chivalrous as I remember him ever being.

Even though we know well that we cannot be seen or heard, Albus and I are silent as we approach Tom and my unmarried self; it is from habit. Soon we are near enough to peer over our shoulders and see the ancient map. Not long after this memory takes place, Tom and I would have the translations and their locations memorized; even as I watch myself study the handful of parchment I have brought with me, there are still parts that I can remember, though some recollections are clearer than others. These clearer ones are mostly riddles. I have always had an eye for patterns with words, though if asked the meaning of them, I would not be able to answer. That talent belonged to Tom.

As I think of this, he sweeps us away to another corner of the Great Hall, pointing at the parchment, then gesturing to a stone in the wall. Albus moves there more quickly than I, and is able to hear what is being said. His eagerness is a restorer of his youth; I am neither eager nor youthful, for this is something I have seen before.

When I have caught up, Tom is tapping his wand against the stone, and I cannot help but smile. It is the rhythm to the Hogwarts School Song. I can remember studying the handwritings upon the map for many hours one night, comparing it to scraps in the oldest of history books. This secret is Helga Hufflepuff's, I discovered, a woman less commonly known for her humorous spirit.

Tom haps the stone a final time, and it begins to shake so violently that it is surprising the surrounding stones are not loosened from their hold. In a moment, it falls still, and suddenly, the Great Hall is filled with the brightest of sunshine I have ever seen, most especially even now, after so many years. It is a feeling I cannot even describe to experience it once more, for thought it is a mere memory, I can feel it purging a layer of shadows within me.

Tom hisses, and my younger self jumps in astonishment.

"Shut it off!" he whispers.

"I do not know how!" I cry, panicked. He pulls the map from my grasp and begins to read it so quickly that his eyes are all but a blur. I begin to laugh, both then and now, so that it combines into a strange sound that is both eerie and mirthful at once. Though I have lived in it for the majority of my life, I am not a being of darkness, and have never been so.

Tom glares at me briefly as he begins tapping the stone once more, though this time the rhythm is backwards. As though an enormous breath of air has just put out the flame of a candle, the room is now cast into blackness even more deep than before.

"Should we not return it to its former state?" I hear myself ask.

"If I recall, you do not know how to do so," he replies, a hint of mocking in his voice. I sigh, slightly from frustration.

"What is next, then?"

Now it is Tom who sighs. "Danielle, you have so many questions tonight, far more than usual."

"I suppose I exhibit my excitement more differently than you, Tom. May I choose our next test, if you do not already have one in mind?"

He chuckles and relinquishes the map to me. "Choose if you must. I fear that there will be no other way to sedate you."

"Why sedate me? Allow me to live, Tom. I promise I shall not be so bothersome come morning."

He place his first two fingers beneath my chin and tilts it upward until his eyes are level with mine. "You are not bothersome," he murmurs. "And you shall live as you like." I smile and kiss him briefly before nearly running to another place in the Great Hall.

The images around me begin to blur as the memory melts away into the present. Albus has seen all that he wishes to, and I am not grieved that he has chosen now to return to what is real. He knows that I endure these things for his sake, and for the sake of the Order of the Phoenix, yet I cannot help but think that he often holds back in order to avoid causing me further pain. What Albus fails to realize is that you cannot hurt someone that has already been broken. I do not doubt that he will revisit each of these memories after I have nothing more left to say.

-

That month, we were preoccupied solely with our discoveries. Our schoolwork we always managed to complete, though nothing was exemplary, and all thoughts of our N.E.W.T.s had been cast aside. For one month our education—at least, that which was directly provided for us—was not the most important aspect of our lives, and it was exhilarating to no end. It did not matter that I felt oddly unlike myself, acting more as a Gryffindor should than a Ravenclaw. At the time, I labeled it as the most dangerous game I had ever played, not yet realizing that I had already been playing it.

And so when that glorious month at last came to an end, we had learned all of the secrets that the map could provide. We found hidden passageways, carved into rock by the very hands of Godric Gryffinor, and located the hiding places of the many spells invented by Rowena Ravenclaw, sent to the bottom of the lake in glass bottles. There was even a hidden room that had once served as a laboratory for the alchemist Nicholas Flamel. In the dungeons, there were rooms that could only be entered in times of great need, which had been utilized as safe havens during a war which had taken place a century after the last Founder's death.

The most chilling things were the cemetery, hidden beneath the kitchens, and the corridor that seemed to have been destroyed by a fire, yet had not been repaired. In the latter were the remnants of a suit of armor that had once been enchanted to serve as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, yet now only whispered countercurses from beneath a layer of ash. Still, it was not useless, for I lingered in the haunting place for night an hour, writing down all that it said in its voice as dry as withering bones. They were spells that were no longer included in the Hogwarts curriculum.

This and many more discoveries contributed to the most enlightening time of my life. A time which ended with the arrival of June.


	35. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Notes: **Happy Christmas! Here is a present for you...

**

* * *

**

Chapter Thirty-five:  
The Beginning of the End

Our N.E.W.T.s took place over the course of the next two weeks, in the precise schedule our O.W.L.s had followed two years prior. Just as before, the majority of my peers were pleased at this, as though a great lapse of time between each examination would increase their chances of passing. Tom and I were the minority, anxious to be rid of the ordeal as quickly as possible. The days free of classes in that fortnight, we knew, were meant simply for the students to rest their minds, the seventh years most especially. Professor Slughorn himself had told this to Tom directly one day.

"We don't really expect students to study, m'boy!" the great man had laughed, clapping Tom upon the shoulder and leaning close as if he meant to whisper. "We just don't want their wee brains to implode! No, don't worry, Tom, the day you don't succeed at something is the day I'll turn myself into an armchair!"

Tom's lips had been the only part of him to display any hint of a smile. His eyes had reflected what his expression could not: annoyance. I had always known he disliked the Potions Master, and endured him only for the fact that he was an influential man. In truth, it had been through Slughorn in part that he had obtained a position at Borgin and Burke's that coming summer. The man was too easily manipulated, Tom had told me, and his mind was weak in spite of his intelligence.

I had often wondered why Slughorn's favoritism had never extended to be. Tom had asked many a time if I would like him to speak to the man about it, but I always dismissed the idea. I did not tell him that I wished to earn his praise, not request it; somehow, he seemed to understand this, for by June he had long since ceased his inquiries.

The morning of the first examination, my stomach felt as though it had knotted itself into a tight ball, as though someone had taken extra care to ensure that it would not become loose. As I had been aroused from my slumber in this state at such an early hour, I decided to stretch my legs. I hoped that the movement would loosen the tension in my middle, but it only served to agitate me. Realizing I could do little else, I traversed to the Great Hall to sit and stare at a plate I would not fill.

To my surprise—though I should not have expected anything less—Tom was seated at the Ravenclaw table in the vicinity of where I habitually dined. The moment I entered the room, he looked up, as though he had sensed my arrival. He smiled and gestured to a place on the bench beside him, and I happily complied with his unspoken suggestion.

"Good morning," he murmured, his lips first touching the back of my hand before he kissed me. "I trust your sleep fared nearly as well as mine."

I nodded, leaning into the crook of his arm. "Only if you did not sleep at all."

He stroked the hair from my forehead as he spoke. "Every time you have worried, and always it is for nothing. I am sure this time will be no different."

"I cannot seem to help it," I sighed. "Though this time I think my worries are justifiable. The N.E.W.T.s are to create a foundation upon which the rest of our lives will stand!"

"No, Danielle," he corrected softly. "_I_ am the foundation for your future, as you are for mine. Marks on parchment can be changed or overlooked, but that cannot. Let that thought relax you."

An enchantment cast upon me could not have likely produced a similar effect just then, for his words did not indeed calm me nigh instantaneously. What did it matter if a small collection of ancient wizards thought my wandwork poor when Tom was mine?

"You are so good to me," I murmured, so quietly that he could not hear to reply. Or perhaps he simply wished not to argue, but not to disagree as well. In that small slice in the grand scheme of time, it did not matter that there were occasions in the past where my statement would have been horrendously false. There were some experiences I had with Tom that I wished nothing more to forget, but then they seemed insignificant and shadowed by moments such as these.

"Tom?" I inquired after several minutes had passed. He shifted slightly, and I knew that he was listening. "I know this must seem a peculiar topic to mention at the moment, but it has suddenly come into my mind…"

"Does it have anything to do with our wedding?"

I looked sheepish. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I have known you long enough to guess at your thoughts, Danielle. Although, I admit that I have thought of it as well. What is it specifically that you wish to discuss?"

"Well, it is just that… I have been wondering, where and on what date is it to happen? And who are we to invite? I do not even know when or how to plan it."

He regarded me for a long moment. "Would you like to begin now?" he asked at length, looking slightly weary. "That is one thing to fully distract you from N.E.W.T.s."

"Now?" I echoed, though more in pleasure than surprise. There had been a small part of me that had hoped for him to say that very thing. That was the closest I realized I would ever come to manipulation; by the resigned air in his expression, I concluded that my attempts had been transparent. Even if he could read my mind—which I often found myself wondering—I doubted he would have needed to do so just then.

"If that is what you would like," he replied, and I nodded. "Now, as for a date, I believe it is in both of our interests to have it as soon as possible. I see no point in waiting, as it feels that we have waited long enough already."

I nearly shivered with excitement. Why was it that he made me constantly feel like a young girl yet a woman all at once? And if we had never met, would I have ever been able to experience such a sensation?

"What about the Sunday following our graduation?" I suggested. "I have heard that it is lucky to be wed upon the seventh day of the week."

Tom considered this. "Yes, for seven is the most powerful magical number." He waved his hand and a scroll of parchment materialized upon the table before us. With another motion, our unused dishes and utensils were moved aside and an ebony quill stiffly balanced in preparation to write. As he tested the date aloud on his tongue, the quill sprung to life, penning precisely that which he had just spoken.

"And then there is the other important matter," I said. "We must find someone to marry us."

"The Ministry is responsible for that, are they not? We need only apply by owl and someone will be provided."

"Yet that is such a business-like way. Surely we could find—"

"Who did you have in mind?" he interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp.

"W-well, I," I stuttered, biting my lip. His abrupt change in tone startled me, for it was as though he already knew who it was that I wished to suggest. "I do not want to say now; I know that you will not approve. It was foolish of me to even consider…"

I could not long endure his scrutiny, and so within seconds I found myself telling him, regardless of the fact that I thought I should not. "P-perhaps… Professor Dumbledore…" I trailed off meekly, not feeling I could continue.

"You are right," he said solemnly. "That was foolish to suggest. But I wish to know your reasoning."

I required a moment or so to consider my response, for in truth the name had simply popped into my mind and seemed to fit.

As I thought, he continued. "I have always disliked Dumbledore, yet in the times to come, I believe that he is to become my greatest enemy. It will not do to have him know my greatest weakness… my greatest secret…"

This made me pause. "Secret?" I asked, furrowing my brow. We had not discussed this before, and I had believed that our wedding would be as simple as anyone's. Yet it seemed I was so wrong.

"Of course. With the support that I am receiving, I am also gaining a great opposition. Do you not think that if they knew, you would be more endangered than I? I will not see you used as a bargaining tool."

I wished that I could find this nonsensical so that I could disagree and protest. Yet I could not deny his logic, just as always. I was a coward, afraid of what might be done to me if our marriage was made public. At the time I did not realize that Tom could have easily protected me from harm, no matter the circumstance, but I did know that a secretive wedding would easily prevent so many of the risks I would be required to take.

"And I would still like to hear your reasoning," he added quietly when he sensed I would not reply.

I drew in a great breath and released it slowly ere I began. "Dumbledore is not my enemy, Tom; he is a powerful wizard, and though you do not agree with his ideals, he is someone that I would trust with my life. There are not many people that I am able to say this about. And if we want everything to be a secret, then is there no better man to keep it? I know that if I ask for his silence, he will give it to me, not utilize it as an advantage as you would. Consider it: Any Ministry official would turn to Dumbledore immediately, and so his awareness is inevitable. Besides," I added, "if he witnesses—nay, conducts—our marriage, will that not decrease his later prying?"

As the remaining students began to trickle into the Great Hall for breakfast, our fundamental plans were completed and already I had composed my letter to the Transfiguration teacher. Tom had told me not to send it until our graduation, and so I was obliged to wait.

-

"I have always wondered why it was that you entrusted me to marry you and Tom," Albus remarks, looking thoughtful.

"But I provided an explanation at the time," I remind him. "That one was also true: I did not wish for a stranger to be included in such a private affair."

"Then I must commend you regardless of which it is. It is not easy to win an argument against Tom."

I nod, appreciative. It had always been Tom who was more logical than I, and so when we bandied thoughts or wit, he was always victorious. This was the sole occasion that I have ever put an admirable point across.

-

Perhaps by coincidence, the first of our examination was a written one for Transfiguration, which occurred an hour after we had left the Great Hall. My mind reeled as we were handed both parchment and quills that would assure our work to be honest, though when I glanced at the first question, I felt my shoulders relax. The queries that followed asked things that I could answer so naturally it was as if I had always known them. Several seats away, I could discern Tom's irritated sigh, and I smiled to myself, clutching my quill firmly.

Tom was the first to finish, and I completed the final sentence in the required essay not long after. When I took my answers to the front of the room to hand to Professor Dumbledore, he looked at me as though I had promised to reveal something to him. I hastily lowered my eyes and bumped into a container filled with extra quills, nearly sending it to the floor. When I steadied it, I rushed to rejoin Tom at the doors where he was waiting.

At the time, these tests were conducted in their respective classrooms and the teachers were present to further supervise. We were also permitted to leave once we were through. I was grateful to leave the room, for nerves and tension were thickly laden in the air.

"Do you see?" he smirked once we were in the corridor. "It was not worth your worry."

"As of yet," I corrected. "In the practical portion it shall not be so simple for me."

Tom merely shook his head, and we walked on in comfortable silence.

That afternoon, the practical was indeed as difficult as I had thought, for I could not readily call to mind and speak certain spells when I was prompted to. I was mortified to find that even when I knew which enchantment to utilize, I stumbled over the pronunciation as though it was a new language to which I was not accustomed. After half the time had passed, I glanced at the examiner who had been assigned to me. She was a small yet sturdy woman in appearance whom I had briefly heard addressed as Madam Marchbanks.

"Relax, child," she kindly told me, meeting my gaze. "I was informed that you are a highly gifted witch, and I am here for you to demonstrate that to me."

"Yes, ma'am," I murmured, flushing. Though her words were meant to encourage me, I felt that I had already disappointed her. I pursed my lips.

"Why don't you try something of your choice?" she suggested.

I thought for a moment, and then smiled as best I could. Then I closed my eyes and envisioned the other chamber, just as it had been the last time we had left it; the threadbare curtains were billowing in and out gently, and I could nigh feel the wind which drifted through them upon my face. In my mind, two shapes began to appear…

Suddenly, there were a collection of astonished outbursts throughout the Great Hall, and my eyes shot open. Instantly, I realized the reasoning behind the surprise of my peers; it was as though the image had been taken directly from my thoughts and cast onto the room, or perhaps that everyone had been transported into it. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: I had revealed the appearance of the other chamber to the entirety of my year.

And yet it was different, for the furniture we thought had long since rotted away was present, and the floor was clean.

"What sort of magic is this?" Madam Marchbanks gasped, looking at me in a mixture of expressions. I could only shake my head, for in truth I did not know. The chamber had been the first thing that had come to mind, yet I had only meant to bring an object for from it as a prop, not the entirety of the room.

At that moment, the chamber door burst open and a man with a great beard and dark green robes strode into our midst. His face was nigh ape-like in appearance, and there was something about him that was familiar, yet I could not place it. He conjured a wooden trunk without the aid of his wand and began to draw various items into its depths. His face was set in an expression of stony anger that I had come to know so well.

In the seconds that followed, a dark haired witch also appeared, her face red and her breath short as if she had just run a great distance. Her deep blue robes hung closely to her slender frame.

"Salazar, you must not leave!" she cried, grasping his arm in an attempt to put an end to his feverish packing.

"You heard Gryffindor," he growled, and shook her off.

"And I care not! _Immobulus!_"

He parried the spell easily, and the light from it was then deflected. I saw it pass straight through the shoulder of a Hufflepuff girl, who shrieked with fear. When she was not rendered immobile as the spell was meant to cause her to do, I understood. Somehow, I had touched upon a memory stored within the castle and had transfigured it to be viewed as it would in a Pensieve. Or nearly so, at least, for if I squinted, I could discern faintly the outline of the Great Hall surrounding it.

Fearful that I had done something I was not supposed to do, I pictured the room as it had been in its former state. To my intense relief, the room once more projected my thoughts, and Rowena and Salazar vanished with their surroundings. The echoes of their argument could be heard for moments more until they faded away into silence.

"I believe," Madam Marchbanks said as she peered closely at me, "that that will suffice." She held her wand aloft and put her finger to the tip. The wood glowed in a hue of pale gold, then melted into a solid ribbon, which she pressed into my hand. "Consider this," she whispered to me. "You are free to leave."

My cheeks burned, though no one looked at me, and I hurried from the room to wait for Tom in slight bewilderment. When he emerged, I could not tell whether he was upset or pleased or directly in between.

"And I thought," he at last said with an air of nonchalance, "that transfiguring a man's voice into that of a Parseltongue was sufficiently impressive." He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.

In comparison to that first day, the remainder of our N.E.W.T.s passed in absolute silence. Everything occurred as it should have, without mishap or excessive achievement. Throughout each practical, my examiners were determined to provoke me into revealing as spectacular a skill as they had thought my previous display to be, but their efforts were unsuccessful. I was not even certain that what I had done before was an enchantment of my own invention.

Just as Slughorn had said, Tom and I utilized the days in between our classes to rest, though we had not initially meant to do so. The first day, I was so inconceivably embarrassed that I nearly had not arrived in my dormitory, and would not have at all had Tom not led me directly to my bed. I was thankful that he had not lingered with me until I awoke, for by that time my housemates had returned to the Ravenclaw tower. After that, we took to dozing in the library—though I would never be positive that Tom truly slept as I did.

With these adopted habits and more, two weeks seemed to fly past, until they were nothing more than a shadow behind us.

-

The afternoon of our graduation from Hogwarts, it felt as though even the sun had emerged to celebrate above us. It mattered not that the air was sickeningly thick with heat, only that it was also laden with excitement. In small clusters, students made their way to the Quidditch Pitch, which was where an official ceremony was to be conducted for the occasion.

As Tom and I proceeded to join them, our interlaced hands swung like an unbalanced pendulum between us. I felt strange, clothed in my full school garb; we had never been required to sport the entirety of it since our first year, when we had not known what was expected of us. All that was missing was our dragon hide gloves, though some donned them in a foolish attempt at humor.

I felt out of place, standing at the center of the stadium, for it had been some time since we had last been there—much less attended a Quidditch game. All around us was a sea of people, each face blending in with the next until parents could not be distinguished from children and young adults. Briefly immobilizing was the fact that my parents would not be present; it was a time they had once been anticipating since I had been in the years of my childhood.

"Just think," my father had laughed as my mother straightened the collar of my robe, "in no time at all, you will be grown, and then where will we be, Danielle?"

Where indeed but beneath the ground?

I shook my head, simultaneous with Tom as he tugged gently at my hand. "Do not drift away too far," he commented. I nodded, the movement slow. It was not the time to call painful memories to mind.

By that time, the stands were brimming with as many occupants as they could hold, and still more littered the grass below. The entirety of the school seemed to have made an appearance, though even with the extra additions, it felt as though there were far too many beings in one place—this place. Perhaps the Quidditch games always merited so large a crowd, yet how would I have been able to compare this? Or perhaps I was simply bitter at the excessiveness because my achievements would be supported by no one.

The ceremony much differed from the ones we had happened to attend in the past, in that it was concise—but not rushed. The speeches which were made were brief, for Professor Dippet was neither verbose nor talented at forming a collection of powerful words. In April, Tom and I had been approached and asked to contribute something; I had declined, for I knew well that I had difficulty presenting merely to as small a class as Ancient Runes. It had been expected of Tom, at the very least, to utter several choice words, yet as always, he feigned humbleness, professing that he would not know what was to be said; and he did not wish to draw so much attention to himself.

This year, the festivities were instead modeled about the Sorting Hat ceremony. We were herded into a crowd, standing much taller than we had the first time, and in more ways than one. Then successively, our names were called and we were entreated to sit upon a larger three-legged stool whilst the Sorting Hat was once more placed upon our heads. This was all of which the ordeal was comprised.

We listened attentively at first, hoping that snatches of the battered hat's words would be spoken aloud; we were eager to pry into whatever private advice it gave, as though it would in some way be useful to the remainder of us. Soon, however, we found ourselves rapidly losing interest as the names being announced from a list was the only proof that something was formally occurring. Our audience, too, was restless.

"Parmellie, Danielle." I was startled into attentiveness when I heard my name being called, and I stumbled toward as though I had been pushed from behind. I could feel eyes upon me, but not many; I was still met with apathy. Feeling conspicuous, I hurried too the three-legged stool and sat upon it. Professor Dippet's plastered smile did not falter as he placed the Sorting Hat atop my head

"Hello, Danielle," the hat said into my mind. "It has been some time since last we spoke, has it not?"

_Indeed. Yet you have reached me in other ways_, I thought dryly.

"Ah, yes. Did you enjoy my song? I composed it specifically for you and your fiancé. You do realize that it is not too late to turn back?"

_I tire of your warnings._

"Then heed them."

_I must thank you for your concern, yet I cannot._

"Would you like for me to show you what the outcome of your choice will be? Perhaps then you will be swayed…"

A dark image began to fill the deepest corners of my mind, and a familiar yet unfamiliar scene grew stronger. A graveyard, and old woman…

"NO!" I cried, realizing belatedly that my statement had not merely been heard by the Sorting Hat, for I had unintentionally spoken.

"Very well." Its tone was regretful, even melancholy. "Simply be careful, if you will not heed my other words. I extend my congratulations on your completion of schooling."

I hastily pulled it from my head before it had the chance to further speak. Ever since I had first met Tom, I had been warned in such a multitude of forms that I no longer cared to listen to them. Always they were meant for my own benefit, yet they were so redundant… If I had not chosen to heed their advice in the beginning, then why should I do so now, when what I believed had long since become solidified in my mind? My steps became an angry march as I joined those students whose names had already been called. My thoughts had changed like milk becoming sour, and the day no longer seemed so bright.

Tom sat under the hat's scrutiny for longer than anyone else. I watched his expression change many times; often his face mirrored what I had felt minutes before, as though he, too, was immersed in an argument with it. However, his features were eventually placid, and he stood with a cool grace when he was through. There was a scattering of applause, and then the ceremony was resumed.

"Am I correct to assume," he said as he came to stand beside me, "that it informed you of things that were not of great worth?"

"Yes," I replied, casting a furtive glance behind me whence he had just come.

"Nothing more could be expected of a hat which belonged to Gryffindor," he mused with a sneer.

We fell into hushed conversation for a time, until the shadows began to lengthen and we were no longer required to remain outside. Then we returned to the castle, no longer as students, to prepare for the rest of our lives.


	36. Silent Wedding Bells

**Author's Notes:** I felt like updating here today. An inexplicable whim, if you will. Enjoy the wedding.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Thirty-six:  
Silent Wedding Bells

Rain drummed against the roof the morning of our wedding. I sat upon the edge of my bed in the flat which was serving as our temporary home; I was waiting for the time to pass. In hours Tom and I would be wed, yet even the seconds dragged on, days within themselves, and so it felt as though the moment would never arrive. It was not any measure of help that the weather had taken such an inexplicable turn, and my hands were then chilled–although, this may have also been due to my anxiety. Tom was not there to keep me warm, for his presence had been required at Borgin and Burke's, whose entrance we could easily view from our residence across the street from it.

With a sigh into my hands, I gazed at the chair over which my wedding dress was draped. I remembered purchasing it the day before in Diagon Alley with Hagrid, for Tom had been reluctant to have me go alone. Though, he had been even more unwilling at my chosen company. It had been all I could do to firmly remind him that Hagrid was still a friend of mine, and it was only fair that I saw him before the wedding, for he would not be in attendance. Indeed, no one would, save Tom, myself, and Dumbledore. True to Tom's word, everything was to be a secret. In the end of our discussion, I was only permitted to let Hagrid accompany me because he already knew of our engagement. That day, the sun had brightly shone.

Yet now the sky was grey, on a day which should have been brightly lit and cloudless. I was not overly superstitious, but I believed that rain upon the day of a wedding was ill-fated luck, and a portent of what was to come. I also believed that a groom should not see his bride until the ceremony began; that was why we would arrive separately by Apparition, if the time ever decided to come. Tom had told me countless times that these foolish beliefs were for muggles, as he had heard of them throughout his earlier days at the orphanage. But could they not also be wizarding superstitions? My own mother had told them to me, once upon a time. And after all, was not bad luck in magical hands, not muggle?

I shook my head violently, nigh jarring myself. I should not have thought of those things. Weather was uncontrollable; it did not habitually act as a warning–one which I had already promised not to listen to. Quickly, I scanned the room with my eyes until I found a small bookshelf, upon which was scattered an even smaller number of books. I Summoned one to me, not caring of the title or subject matter. It would have to serve as a distraction.

However much later it was, I did not know, but eventually, I heard a sharp knock upon the door of my room. I tossed the book aside, having not retained a word, and glanced out the narrow window. The rain had relented into a slight drizzle, but still it was enough to lift my spirits.

"Hello, Tom," I greeted merrily just before the door swung open. Tom entered the room, slightly disheveled and weary in appearance, though he still flashed me as large a smile as he could muster. I was in his arms ere he twice blinked.

"Hello, Danielle," he said, kissing the top of my head and then my lips. I breathed in his warmth for a moment before I broke away. "I have come to see if you are prepared to leave soon. It is nearly time."

I glanced at the clock, then gasped in shock. "Oh dear! It is already so late!"

He nodded. "I must dress, and then I will depart. I will await your arrival with anticipation." He kissed me once more, and then briskly walked from the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he had left and I heard his footsteps fade, I Summoned my gown in a flurry. Quickly, I shed my plain, normal clothing, and stepped with great care into the dress, which slid over my skin with the feeling of an invisibility cloak. When at last I had the sleeves pulled upon my shoulders, I adjusted the hem and waist, for I had not before found the time to do so; I was still petit, and so it was rare that something fit in precisely the size in which it was bought.

When it felt as I thought it should, I regarded my reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me was a woman with an air of elegance, whose gown complemented her skin, instead of appearing awkward with its paleness and imperfections. The dress itself rippled along the frame of her body in currents of white, gathering once in the back before it fell into the flow. The sleeves narrowed at her wrists, and the hint of skin above her chest was nigh entirely masked by a field of lace, which stretched downward until it joined the bubbling fabric at the bottom. Only when I saw that her feet were bare and her hair untouched did I realize that this woman was no beautiful stranger, but myself.

Feeling the spell ebb away, I conjured a handful of combs and pins, then bewitched them to style my unsightly tresses. In a matter of moments, they fell still, their task complete. I regarded the mirror once more and discovered my hair to be in a loose knot at the back of my head, its severity softened by the wisp-like curls that had been excluded to frame my face. Clumsily, I added a red hint to my lips and darkened my eyelashes by a half shade. When I was through I felt that for once in my life, I was perfect. For one day, I could not be the plain girl whose guise I donned at all other times. With a contented sigh, I stepped into my shoes and draped my veil over my head. The latter was like a container, holding in all of the emotions I knew would otherwise burst forth, uncontrolled.

I lastly conjured a bouquet of white roses, though just before I Apparated away, I changed them to a brilliant red.

Not a drop of rain had touched the clearing into which I soon entered, for it was shielded by a large spell which stretched overhead. Indeed, I could see the droplets spattering against and dripping along an invisible dome. The leaves of the surrounding trees were of a green only glimpsed during the springtime, and the grass beneath my feet glittered though it was not wet. From within the shadows of the forest I emerged, and I walked along a path of tiny white flowers, which had grown into two curving, parallel lines, It led to the clearing's center, above which floated a sheer canopy, like a flying carpet nigh made from the air itself. The outstretched branches of the trees held lanterns, whose light could only be distinguished because of the clouds.

At first, I kept my eyes to the ground, watching my feet for fear that I would fall, and I listened to the soft chorus of wood nymphs from within the depths of the trees. Yet then I lifted my eyes and saw Tom. At that moment, no handsomer man had ever been in existence. He was dressed in robes as ebony as the night, which contrasted with the paleness of his skin as the white had complemented mine. His hair was equally as dark, styled in a carefree yet aristocratic manner, and his eyes... Even when I was almost beside him, I could not discern their exact hue.

We held each other's gaze for what could have been any length of time between a quarter of a minute and a quarter of an hour. For a moment, I thought I saw his eyes flash a reddish shade, and for some unexplainable reason, I felt the need to turn away. When I looked at him once more, his eyes had returned to that which they normally were. Whatever I had seen I excused as a trick of my own nervousness.

It was only after I dropped my eyes a second time did I notice Professor Dumbledore standing at Tom's right. His robes were a deep purple, and his lengthy beard was tucked into the gold of his belt. He declined his head in a nod at my approach, and I smiled from behind my veil,

"Shall we begin?" he inquired jovially, waving his fingers so that a dusty book materialized into his awaiting hands. "I have not conducted many weddings as of late, I'm afraid," he added when he saw the look Tom was throwing the great tome.

I gently brushed my fingertips against Tom's hand in a silent and subtle warning. _Not now_, I pleaded in my mind. In an instant, his tensed body relaxed and the corners of his mouth turned upward; though this latter movement was only slight, I was immensely grateful, and sent him a silent thanks. For a moment, I thought I saw him nod.

Just then, it appeared that Professor Dumbledore had found his place within the book, for he began to speak–though he seemed to be disregarding the text before him.

"It is one of the most remarkable phenomena, the bond that is formed between beings as they prepare to unite in marriage. At times, we must even wonder if such a powerful magic exists, for indeed it is nothing but magic, though a different kind than many of us know of or have experienced. It does not require wandwork, nor does it derive from the shuffling of playing cards. No, love cannot be categorized, and so it is a magic of its own.

"You have asked me to marry you, and marry you I will, for I believe in this magic, strong and miraculous as it is. And I believe that it grows within your hearts even as I speak, and that it has been growing since it was a seed many years ago. Over time, Danielle, your love for Tom may obliterate faults within him and yourself, and for you, Tom, it may do the same."

When I glanced at Tom, his eyes were burning with intense dislike.

"And now is the time for you to be united with the vows that laced together the very marriage of Salazar Slytherin himself," Dumbledore continued, unfazed, "which has prevailed throughout countless centuries to be bestowed upon you."

Tom breathed deeply, and then commenced his recitation.

"From the depths of my soul  
I thee have watched  
O'er a time so that I may know  
It is thee whom I doth choose to be  
The keeper of my being whole  
Through darkness and night  
I do profess  
To maintain for thee a burning light  
And when shadows cometh 'cross thy path  
Keep them I will from thy site.  
Thus I promise that our blood  
Shall be as if from one  
My hand is thine as it should  
For I to thee now personify  
My everlasting love."

Tears had sprung unbidden to my eyes at the conclusion of his words, and I required a moment to collect myself before I could begin mine.

"I have looked into thy soul  
And in there I have seen  
Thine eyes watching at each toll  
And often in between  
I have come to trust thy word  
And so I do believe  
These words to me thou put forward  
Are truly meant to be  
In turn it is I who thee promise  
To love thee just as great  
When thou art absent I shall miss  
Thine amorous embrace  
Favors that thou doth me give  
I promise to return  
For now as long as I shall live  
My love for thee doth burn."

I sniffed in spite of myself, and then joined hands with Tom, who said, "I take thee for mine own, Danielle. I take thee for my wife." He slipped a ring onto my finger.

I did the same upon his as I replied, "I take thee for mine own, Thomas. I take thee for my life."

Dumbledore stepped forward and placed his hands so that they hovered over ours. "As there is no one present who wishes to object, I pronounce you, Danielle Elysabeth Parmellie, and you, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, as husband and wife." From his hands flowed a glittering white light, which encircled us as he said, "Tom, you may kiss your bride."

Tom's lips swept over mine as he lifted my veil, sealing our promises. I cared not that our former professor was there to witness us, all that mattered was that at last, I was a married to Tom. I was Tom's wife. I kissed him as I had never done before, all of the emotions I felt for him channeling through it. We were a world of our own, with magic of an inconceivable kind.

When we broke apart, Dumbledore took a photograph, though I knew that such was unnecessary; I would remember this moment until the day I died. Above us, wedding bells tolled in silence.


	37. Considering Mysteries

**Chapter Thirty-seven:  
Considering Mysteries**

Tom and I never once considered a honeymoon, for in truth, neither of us desired one. Such a respite would constitute only idle lounging, which we could not afford to have at a time in which we were attempting to shape our new lifestyle. Romanticisms were overruled by sense, and this was something we did not believe we would ever regret. I thought that, if the concept suddenly struck our fancy in the distant or near future, we would act upon our whims and depart to some place we had not yet decided upon. I did not entertain the idea that perhaps it was only I who thought such things, and that my fancy might be struck too late.

And so I fell into the new rhythm of a married woman, maintaining our tiny living quarters in a manner that could only be instinctive, for I had never been taught the ways in which one keeps a home. That was not to say, of course, that my role was simply that of a goodly and silent wife, as I had heard muggle women become entrapped in. Nor was I not good to Tom, for that would have been mockery of his affections, and I cared for him even more deeply than I had during our engagement. No, I kept the corners of our home free of cobwebs and prepared meals for the two of us when he did not return early enough to do so himself; yet, I was free to do whatever it was that I pleased, and so I was not always found doing nothing, simply waiting for my husband's arrival each night. And even if I had, Tom would not have allowed such behavior. I was loyal, he reminded me, but did not lack a brain.

Over the course of the first month, I wandered the streets of both Knockturn and Diagon Alley. I enjoyed the latter for its brightness and familiarity; though it was never brimming with people as it was at the end of each August, the shops were always the same. And at times, I preferred the quiet. However, Knockturn Alley was then my home, and so I felt obligated to become as familiar with it as its cheerful counterpart.

On occasion, I made my way into Borgin and Burke's to see Tom, though only sometimes was he there. More often than not, it was Mr. Burke who was milling about the dank store or sitting behind the front desk, waiting for customers who I never once saw.

Only on one day did I inquire of Tom's whereabouts. The sky was unusually void of cloud, and the air was as hot as it had been the day of our graduation from Hogwarts. I had outfitted myself in an emerald green robe which I had bought the day before. I did not habitually make such purchases, for I was content with the apparel I still owned from previous years, yet my eye had been caught by the intensity of such a Slytherin green. I had meant to have it fitted into a robe for Tom, for surely only he could have been worthy to sport such a hue. However, my mind had been swayed when I had imagined the way in which the corner of his lips would bend, a smirk of satisfaction to see the most important color of his House and ancestry displayed upon my form. As I walked to Borgin and Burke's, my sleeves rolled to my elbows because of the heat, I hoped to surprise him by my choice of garb—and more importantly, to please him.

Yet, as I stepped through the shop doors, a cool darkness swallowing me as I did so, the only presence I could detect was not that of Tom. To my dismay, it was the small, old form of the shopkeeper, who had heard my arrival and was eyeing me carefully through a narrowing gaze.

"Mr. Riddle isn't here," he said harshly the moment the door had closed itself behind me. He knew well enough the only reason I was there, and grew irritated each time I stopped by.

Mr. Burke peered closely at me and his eyes flashed with suspicion. "Your robes must have cost a pretty galleon or two," he said with a sneer. "Does Mr. Riddle know how you are spending his money? Surely he would never give such a fine thing as a gift to someone of the likes—"

"I do not rely solely upon my husband's income," I interrupted curtly. Our exchanges were always conducted in this manner when Tom was not present; neither of us had ever trusted the other, though at first I had not replied to his remarks, simply left, dejected. By then, I had learned to ignore him. Although, what I had then just told him was true: the robe I had purchased with what little remained of my parents' small fortune.

"Well, you have your answer, then," he coughed in response to the question I had never asked. "So be off with you. Mr. Riddle is away at the moment."

"He is always away," I said, surprising myself. "Where is it that you send him?"

The man's wrinkled mouth turned in an angry sneer. "You've no business asking, relation of Mr. Riddle or not!" He placed his hands against the surface of his desk and rose to his feet. "Keep your nose clean, you wretched girl, or I will tolerate you no longer!"

Though I was taken aback by this unexpected outburst, I was even more so when he raised his hand, and I felt myself being propelled toward the door.

"I beg your pardon!" I cried, parrying the spell quickly and with ease.

"Then you may show yourself to the door," he muttered. Clearly, he had not expected any defense on my part, for he was sorely mistaken. Still, I did precisely what he desired and stumbled out onto the shadowed street, a feeling of befuddlement arising within me. Before, I had never asked of the nature of Tom's work, accepting it as an occupation Tom had greatly desired. Yet at that moment, I began to feel foolish at the fact that I had not wondered until then. Why must his location be a matter so secretive? This thought aroused a sense of worry, though I believed that Tom knew exactly what it was that he was doing. At the time, I could not fathom how exact he was.

But with this thought came many others, and so as soon as I had reassured myself, my mind began to drift to different places. Like a river, it lazily flowed into the forgotten corners of my head; it upturned old concerns and ideas which I had long-since ceased to remember, and those which I had as of yet not considered. This sudden action was something which I could not explain, but instead could blame upon the nature of the weather. And so it was inexplicable that I suddenly recalled the words that Madam Marchbanks had spoken at the end of my Transfiguration examination.

_Consider this…_

I froze, this sentence echoing within my mind, and in an instant, I felt a small weight being pressed into my palm. Startled, I lifted my hand and discovered a narrow golden ribbon, glittering as it rested in a thin patch of sunlight.

"Consider this," I murmured, taking the object between my thumb and forefinger. However, I had only a second's time to examine it, for I felt my feet being swept out from beneath me and I spun into the air. There was a belated tug at my navel—for by then, my surroundings were already a blur, and I was traveling at in incomprehensible speed. For what seemed like hours, I was enveloped by but a streak of blue, yet then other hues began to flash by until I felt myself descend and the air became more comfortable.

My head spun as my feet were planted upon the floor—firmly, I could not yet discern. My vision was hindered and my thoughts nigh entirely incoherent, my only coherent thought wrapping itself around me as an anchor for my being. For several moments, I could comprehend only the fact that the ribbon had been a Portkey of sorts, though the likes of which I had never before experienced.

And then at last, the nausea and dizziness abated, and my senses were restored to their normal states. I could not recall bending and seating myself in any place, but I discovered myself to be sitting upon a polished floor, my legs splayed out before me. My cheeks flushed and I quickly stood, for I also discovered myself to be in the company of several witches and wizards, all of whom but one seeming not to notice my arrival. This one, an aged woman, was unexpectedly not a stranger.

"There you are," said Professor Marchbanks, her voice crisp but not unkind, just as I recalled it being. "I'm afraid I was beginning to worry that you would never sufficiently _consider_."

"I do not wish to appear rude," I began, staring at her in spite of myself, "yet I do not know what it is that I have considered."

The wrinkles upon her face stretched as she smiled; this action seemed nigh strange as it was displayed across her features. "Well, that is to be expected, Danielle Parmellie—or rather, _Riddle_."

I let forth an involuntary gasp.

"I welcome you to the Department of Mysteries, Mrs. Riddle, where the answers to the unknown come to our attention. Follow me, if you would."

That day, it seemed as though I would constantly be traversing through shadows, for Madam Marchbanks led me to a portion of wall that was bathed in them. This would not have been so peculiar if the entirety of the room in which we currently stood was not so highly illuminated. I glanced about, my eyes and mind drinking in my surroundings; I discovered that we were in a corridor, not a true room as I had first assumed, though it seemed that we had once been in one, for around the corner behind us, I could glimpse a fountain in the distance and someone hurrying along past it.

"As you may have deduced, this department of the Ministry of Magic is highly secretive, and so you must exercise care to him you reveal your visit to us. And," she added, "perhaps your career."

"My career?" I repeated, and she nodded, then asked to see my wand. I held it aloft as she instructed, and then tapped it twice against the shadowed wall.

"I do tire of hidden doorways," the elder woman sighed as the wall slowly opened to reveal an entryway to another corridor. As we passed through it and it melded once more into its former identity, I found myself agreeing with her statement. Too many doors had I found in the past that most others could not.

I fell into step behind her as she strode along the narrow passageway, the sound the heels of her boots made as they clicked upon the floor echoing around us. Every few paces, a torch roared to life within its bracket upon the wall, though instead of a rosy glow, it cast out a faint green light reminiscent of the illumination in the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts. At first, the walls on either side of us seemed empty—save for the sources of light—yet when I peered at them closely, I could distinguish doorways, faint as though I was gazing at them through a thick screen, or perhaps from behind a curtain.

It was through one of these doorways that she sharply turned, though I faltered slightly before doing the same. Later, I likened the experience to entering Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, though on the other side was not a gleaming scarlet steam engine, but an enormous chamber, dark yet just light enough so that one could find one's way. At its center was a fountain, and the water which bubbled from within it was green before it spilled over the sides of the basin and turned blue. From below it exuded a thin, nearly transparent fog. In the dim light, I could distinguish the intricate designs upon the polished floor, many containing familiar runes.

"This is the Atrium," Professor Marchbanks explained quietly, "modeled after the one which lies in the main building. The design and layout change each year, as a precaution."

Against what, precisely, I did not ask. Somehow, I knew that, at that particular moment, my questions would not be appropriate.

Abruptly—so sudden that I nigh did not see her begin to move—she turned to me with her eyes as sharp and perceptive as a bird of prey's.

"I have brought you here because you expressed great talent at the end of your seventh year of schooling, the likes of which I believe to be invaluable to our department. If it is your wish, you shall become an apprenticed Unspeakable, and should you excel as I expect you will do, your occupation shall become full-fledged."

Her words stunned me, and I chided myself for being so surprised with such ease—for it seemed that I was incessantly encountering what was to me the unexpected. I expected nothing when I should have expected anything and everything—or at least learned that not everything would be as it seems. And then I became suspicious, for who was I to receive such good fortune? Even then, I did not believe whole-heartedly in my abilities, in spite of what Tom and my professors had told me in the past. Yet this could be no trick, this offer, and I knew my suspicions were foolish.

"It is my wish," I said at length, and her expression softened.

"Very well," she smiled. "You shall begin at once."

And thus commenced my career as an Unspeakable, a developer of spells, keeper of time, and solver of mysteries unknown even to the magical world.


	38. Keeper and Thief of Time

**Chapter Thirty-eight:  
Keeper and Thief of Time**

I was content as an Unspeakable, perhaps more so than I had first anticipated that I would be. Each morning, an hour after Tom had departed for Borgin and Burke's, I Apparated to the main Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. From there, I proceeded to the corridor which I had been shown my first day and vanished into the Department of Mysteries. As the weeks passed, the sun and heat began to penetrate even the most obscure of corners in Knockturn Alley, washing over the world in a stifling wave; yet I was inside, calm and hidden from the weather's onslaught. Tom once joked that this was for the best, for he said that I often grew irritable in the summer months. My protests, he smirked, merely solidified this.

I was given a small room—an office, I supposed, though the term I, for some reason, was not font of—on the department's ground floor. In the beginning, I was unhappy in spite of myself, for the lack of light affected me strongly. Soon, however, I bespelled a false window into my wall, something I had heard rumors of from various other departments. At the time, this was not a common occurrence, and so I was able to change the weather it displayed as I pleased. Most often, the sun shone brightly—though not too much so—and after tampering with it further, the window could be opened to make way for a gentle breeze. At times, though, the section of glass and wood upon my wall served as a portal, in a way. On occasion, it overlooked Borgin and Burke's or our Knockturn Alley home. It was an exceptionally rare occurrence when I located Tom with my window—at least, when he was not in places in which he could easily be found.

It was in this way that I began to discern the nature of his work, and it became nigh a sort of game. It was far more interesting for me to attempt to decipher what I saw than to simply ask him outright, though I often found myself wishing to do precisely that. What would it hurt to inquire such things? Surely I would not have been received in the same manner I had been by Mr. Burke so many afternoons before. The worst he would do, I believed, would be to draw his lips into a thin, snake-like line and shake his head, subtly but firmly enough to end all further discussion of the matter. Yet still, I did not think such a reaction would occur. After all, it was I who was closest to him, and so there was no reason that secrecy should be provoked.

And so when my mind was free—which was not a regular happening—I gazed beyond the glass of my windowpane, silently debating that which revolved around Tom. At times, I jested with myself that this was the most important aspect of my research, though moments later, such jests were swallowed by stacks of parchment or newly-forming demands.

As the season progressed, I graduated from my apprenticeship to Griselda Marchbanks and became an Unspeakable, full-fledged, just as she had once predicted. From then on, I was asked to do things unimaginable—unimaginable even if they had been expected. Nearly at once, I realized that there was an enormous amount of information being kept from the wizarding public, and more often than not with good reasoning behind it.

At first, I was stationed in the Hall of Prophecy, a chamber with a cathedral-like interior in regards to size, and lined with shelf upon shelf for an endless distance. Even more endless, however, was the number of small glass orbs which had—for some—made the shelves their home perhaps centuries before. In the beginning, I was fascinated by the varying dates and slopes of handwriting upon the weathered labels beneath each orb, illuminated only by candles and the tiny, candle-like flames within each rounded glass container. Yet this was only while I was apprenticed, and Madam Marchbanks incessantly was required to pull me away from the shelves, for I would slowly pace each one if permitted, tracing my fingertips along the worn corners of each label that I passed, reading the contents of each and wondering at what it truly held.

I was not permitted to hear the prophecies, save for those which were presented to me specifically. It was these select predictions that I was told to catalogue, copying their words verbatim into a book which was as old as the oldest prophecy held within the room. (I looked at this date one evening; the numbers were nearly all faded, and so I could discern only that it was from the eighth century.) At times, I was asked to decode the cryptic messages that were conveyed, though with this I had little success, for prophecies could be likened to riddles. The only riddle I had ever come close to solving was Tom, and even then, I was far from the answer.

This was why, after only a week, I was whisked away to the Time Room, and it was at this point that I was granted the room in which I would work for many years thereafter. It was in this room that I toyed with the multitude of aspects of Time-Turners, a task which was far more interesting even than reading prophecy labels. I came to discover that I was skilled at reshaping old magic; I should have realized this when I modified Slytherin's diary for Tom. I was not imaginative enough to invent new ideas, only to improve old ones.

Still, I considered this to be my form of artistic expression. With the foundation already lain, I could strengthen it and reinforce its ability. In a way, I began to comprehend Tom's obsession with certain things, for I grew to look upon each Time-Turner nearly as an individual child. Each little hourglass, enclosed in varying shapes and materials, was unique to me, and none had the same abilities as any other. Some I bewitched to enter any time—even before the first prophecy had ever been recorded—and some were so precise that one could go back to relive a single second in the vast expanse of a lifetime. My most favorite acted as a Pensieve could, though a physical memory was not required; minute, silver dials simply needed to be turned, and all around would a particular instance be displayed. Later, I would learn that this Time-Turner had been duplicated and given to several prestigious Aurors who then utilized them in stopping many a dark affair.

I told the entirety of this to Tom one night when duties had kept us both away until the moon had begun to sink. I was prideful of my accomplishments, my enthusiasm cascading from my lips and pooling upon Tom's chest as I smiled against his skin. His breathing was a steady rhythm as I said each word—words that came in a flurry of whispers—and he waited with great patience until I had finished to speak.

"I must pose a request to you," he murmured. The pattern of his breaths changed only slightly, though mine slowed into silence, and I did not reply. At that moment I knew—wondered or feared, even, somehow—what this request would be. It was a moment when the alleged connection between our minds was strong.

"I do not wish to steal," I said, my voice soft. I felt him stiffen, if only just. Then he smirked.

"Perhaps you have known me for too long," he remarked at length.

"There is no such thing," I informed him, more forcefully than I intended.

Tom chuckled, though it was in a manner that was the familiar farce.

"I require only one," he promised, his finger grazing the outline of my lips. I closed my eyes and sighed, though a smile played upon the place he had last touched.

"You cannot seduce me into committing theft. I do not believe that you could have me any more ensnared, Tom." This was true, and we had both long-since known. He already knew that I would do whatever it was that he asked of me, following his commands like a blinded sheep. My conscience had been silenced.

He withdrew his hand and shifted to gaze at me intently. "Only one, Danielle, that is all I will ask of you, and only once. I will understand if you refuse…"

_Yet I know that you will not_, his eyes seemed to say.

I did not need to think. "Which Time-Turner is it that you desire?"

A subtle gust of warm breath tickled the hairs atop my head as he relaxed. "The one which would allow me to travel to a specific time without knowing the precise date."

"I might have known."

"You already know too many things."

This statement I could often agree to.

By the time I awoke the next morning, Tom had already slipped away. As I rose from my bed, memories of the previous night's conversation came roaring back into my mind, and for a brief moment, I froze, paralyzed by the simple act I had promised to commit. Remnants of my conscience remained, yet as they were only slight, they were soon whisked away. I consoled myself, whispering in my own ear that as a keeper of time, it was justifiable to borrow one of its many tools. For surely, Tom would not keep it; he would not require its use after it had served whatever purpose he was planning to give it.

I breakfasted in contemplative silence, and then Apparated to the Ministry's Atrium. From there, I proceeded to the Department of Mysteries through the hidden door, whose presence and location were only known to Unspeakables. That year, at least. Madam Marchbanks had once told me that the door shifted each time the department's layout was changed. And at the time, the headquarters for this mysterious Ministry branch was as large as the Ministry of Magic building itself, though it was seemingly contained within a single corridor.

I hurried across the shadowed Mysteries Atrium, for I had not realized before that I was nearly late—though it was not as if the times of my arrival and departure were clocked and recorded each day. Though I had not been directly informed of this, I suspected that I was expected to come and go at whatever moments I wished, as long as my work was completed.

I entered the Time Room, pausing only a moment to glance at the dappled green light which was reflecting upon the walls and the many clocks surrounding me. Just where I had left it rested the large glass case in which the Time-Turners were stored. I traced an invisible design into its front with my wand, and it began to shrink until its entirety could rest safely within my palm. Carefully I walked, my fingers closing lightly around the glass. Always was I worried that it would shatter, yet miraculously, it never did—though an Unbreakable Charm hardly constituted a miracle.

A long-bearded wizard nodded at me as I passed him, and I did the same in return. Each morning it was always the same. I would never learn his name, and he would never learn mine. In the Department of Mysteries, Unspeakables had very few ties with one another; everyone was far too isolated with the tasks they were required to do. The only name I would ever become familiar with was that of Madam Marchbanks, though after the termination of my apprenticeship, we made few exchanges.

When I reached my room, I returned the case to its normal size and glanced out my window. At times, it drifted off to places conceived solely by itself, and that day was one of such occasions. It had chosen to overlook a large manor house which rested atop a hill. It had darkened windows, and even the window could not cause the trees around it to stir. The only movement was that of a man in patched garb, the clicking of whose shears as he trimmed the hedges could be heard through the glass. But I waved the image away to a sunny moor, too preoccupied to find familiarity in the former image.

When Tom had made his request, I had instantaneously pictured the Time-Turner that he wanted. It was smaller than many of the others, but all the same, I hoped that it would not be missed. I plucked it from its fellows upon a shelf and turned it on its side. The words _Department of Mysteries, M.O.M._ were engraved into the dull metal, land after a pause, I rubbed the tip of my wand over them until they smoothed into nothingness. Another pause, and I cast an Untraceable Spell upon it; only then was I satisfied that I would not be caught.

I watched as the little fixture collapsed and flattened, stretching until it was paper-thin, and then I sealed it into a thick parchment envelope. Before the sapphire wax seal had been allowed to fully dry, I had summoned a Ministry owl and sent it to Tom.

Hours passed until it was evening, though each minute which ticked by went unnoticed by me. As had become a habit, I was engrossed with the Time-Turners, determined to better each one with the next to compensate for the one that had been lost. Outside, my sky was dimming and a fire was slowly crawling up from beneath the logs of my fireplace. It mattered not that it was July, for the department paid no heed to the ways of the earth; inside, the corridors were stained with an impenetrable chill.

Suddenly, there came a sharp knock upon my door, and I started at the noise, having heard nothing louder than the falling of grains of sand for the entirety of the day. I placed the large Time-Turner on which I had been working onto my desk and I looked up. The door swung open to reveal Madam Marchbanks, a weary look about her.

"Are you terribly occupied?" she inquired.

I shook my head, feeling that this answer was not a lie.

She sighed. "You're needed, then, in the next room. Bode has been called away for the night. Simply watch the veil." She glanced at the Time-Turners resting in the case at my feet. "You may bring those, if you wish."

Without another spoken word, the old woman swept herself from the room, leaving no further instruction in her wake. Tenderly, I gathered the Time-Turners and what few belongings I was required to bring with me each day. Then I encased my window in its hanging and extinguished all light held within the room. Embers faded into the hearth and the door closed at my heels, locking itself, even as I pressed onward and it melted into its surroundings.

The room was directly across the outside corridor and lay against the Time Room. Beyond the doorway, the air was far more chilled than the remainder of the department, and I shivered as it penetrated the thin fabric of the robes I had chosen to wear that morning. I gently set that which I had brought onto the floor and hesitated with my fingers upon the handle of the door. Strangely, I did not want it to close, though it seemed that I had no say in the matter, for it pressed against my hand until it had fitted itself tightly into its frame. As soon as it had done so, feeble pricks of light sprung up, strong enough only to weaken the shadows.

The room was large but not excessively so, like a stadium that had been shrunk slightly to fit. For indeed, like a stadium, it was lined with rows of benches, all of which came together, it seemed, to slope downward, an inverted pyramid. At the very center, the floor disappeared into a shallow pit, in which stood an archway made of stone. Its edges were worn and crumbling, yet still it appeared to be sturdy, and hanging from it was a weathered ebony curtain. It seemed to billow, though at a speed of a different time, for it moved in slow, gentle rolls. From above, still by the chamber's entrance, I looked down upon it, uneasy. This was most certainly the veil I had been told to watch, yet it appeared to do nothing.

As had often occurred before, I was overcome with a feeling of curiosity, which dissipated the majority of my unease. Though still cautious, I descended into the pit, carefully stepping into the middle of each stone bench as I went. And then I stood before the veil, close enough to feel the cold it seemed to excrete. Forward I reached, wondering what lay on the other side of the curtain, but when I pulled it aside, all I saw was the opposite end of the room.

Befuddled and disappointed, I turned to retrace my steps. Yet as soon as I did so, something seemed to catch upon my robes. I swatted at it in irritation, believing that the fabric had snagged upon a roughened corner of the stone. But then I stopped, my motion hanging suspended. I blinked thrice; each time I opened my eyes, I still saw the ghost of a hand retreating from the hem of my robe until it disappeared. Beyond the veil, a pair of whispers seemed to call my name.

My breath latched in my throat and I staggered backward; I could feel my face draining of its color. In my haste, I felt myself falling, felt myself leaning toward the archway and shifting to the side at the last possible moment. Just as I struck the ground, my arm cushioning the impact, and envelope was slipped beneath the door. I would find it an indecipherable amount of time later, and read the words in the unreliable light, written in Tom's script: a note of thanks for the Time-Turner I had stolen.


	39. When

**Chapter Thirty-nine:  
When**

I told no one of my experience within the Death Chamber—for that was what I later learned that I was called. Nor did I mention the Time-Turner to Tom, for I enjoyed pretending that once it had left my sight, it had left my mind as well. However, in spite of this, Tom wished to discuss both instances, though he drew much more attention to the first. When I asked him how he knew of this, he appeared startled. "Did you yourself not tell me?" he replied with his dark eyebrows arching. It was a response of such an innocent nature that it held no truth.

If this pair of matters ever entered our conversation, I was more eager to discuss the Time-Turner, though only as a last resort. In truth, my curiosity had, for the time-being, been drained. But of course, Tom would turn our talk from this and revisit the topic of my unconscious spell in the Death Chamber. Sometimes, he found humor in my sudden weakness, though other times, he grew serious. What precisely could Death reach out and speak to me from beyond the veil? Once more was I able to witness his child-like moments, for only children could produce such a multitude of questions at once.

But just as the questions of a child always were, Tom's questions were often ones that I could not answer. He knew more of death than I, I thought, for he had more than once been the cause behind it. Simply because I had recently spent a fraction of a day around it did not mean that I had suddenly become qualified to describe it in the desired detail. I did not even know the reason the veil had needed to be guarded. When I relayed this to him, he grew irritated, agitated and frustrated for reasons I could not comprehend. Soon, though, I began to suspect that my ignorance was not the sole initiator of his mood.

I did not approach him with this thought, of course. At least, not at first or with the intent of doing so; rather, by happenstance.

The night in which this occurred, I was suffering from a common cold—for the Department of Mysteries' climate had at last taken a toll upon my health. I had returned home early several hours before, as the heat of my forehead had been inhibiting my focus and I could accomplish nothing. I had been startled to find Tom waiting for me, to help me settle comfortably into bed. Mr. Burke had sent him away early, he had told me, briefly stroking my hand. There had been concern in his tone as he had remarked of my state, yet this worry had only reached hi eyes in part.

I had closed my own eyes then, feeling a somnific pressure upon my lids. Before he had even left the room, I had been consumed by sleep, not plagued by dreams or an aching head.

When I opened my eyes once more and rose, I felt that my physical condition had improved greatly, for I could walk without a slight stagger in my step. It was dark, however, and so it was still difficult to navigate around the room, even though it was sparsely furnished. I grasped in the direction of the little table I knew was somewhere beside me until my fingers closed around my wand.

"_Lumos_," I whispered, startled to find that my voice had gone hoarse. Perching the slender slice of wood upon the table's surface, I found a candle and lit it, then proceeded into the outside hall. Whether or not Tom slumbered, or was even near, I could not be certain, for the moon was full and high in a coal-black sky; from this alone, I knew that the hour was late.

My path turned sharply and I entered the kitchen, which shared a wall with a room that served as a living room and study combined—though these were only the formal names of its components. I held my candle aloft, casting a sweeping circle of light around me as I inspected the room. This action revealed nothing—and no one—and I concluded that I was alone; our flat was far too small for Tom to be any other place inside of it. With a frown, I returned to the kitchen, deciding to keep my hunger at bay.

It was when I began to pull a glass from the cupboard that there came an enormous rush of air from behind me. Quickly, I turned, and the glass slipped from my touch and shattered as it hit the floor. However, I ignored this, nearly stepping upon the broken pieces. I was more concerned with whatever it was that had suddenly entered my home.

Cautiously, I peered beyond the door and into the living room; my foot was perched in such a way that I could easily flee and retrieve my wand. Yet I need not have worried, for it was only Tom, who, for one fleeting second, appeared just as skittish as I. Then the moment passed and I exhaled while Tom's shoulders lost their stiffness. Still, he did not move, and I wondered why until I saw the object that was clasped within his hands. Like a beast waiting to strike, I could sense his unease as he pulled a delicate chain fro around his neck, the Time-Turner attached to it.

"I must thank you again," he said at length, seeming to unfreeze as the words left his lips in a transparent cloud. I stepped into the room and came to pause before him. The gap between us filled itself with silent questions as we stood in the darkness that still remained. These questions were ones that even I could not leave unasked.

"When did you go?" I first queried. This particular formation of words sounded awkward upon my tongue but _where_ instead of _when_ did not seem to fit either.

"Shall I tell you a story?" A strange smile alighted upon his face as he said this, bringing forth a look that could have meant either good or bad had come to pass, interchangeable until the circumstance was revealed. All that was certain was that this look was one of triumph or discovery, a smug fingerprint of enlightenment. I knew that Tom was one to bring his accomplishments into the light, and his accomplishments often brought both good and bad, though to whom… This was in constant questions.

Tom began to pace, a warning that he soon might slip away from me and into his own mind. With haste instead of thought, my hand shot out to rest upon his shoulder. I gripped it firmly yet gently, and I held my breath, waiting for my grasp to be shrugged away. When it was not, I felt strengthened; I took a step, bringing myself closer to him. But it was as though he had turned himself to stone: he could neither rid himself of me nor draw me into his arms.

"A story…" he whispered, turning his neck sharply so that his eyes faced mine.

"What is this story?" I prompted, not letting go.

"My story, in part." His eyes gleamed. "Although, it is also the story of my mother. The very last, dirty pages of it."

"You still will not redeem or forgive her?"

"I forgive no one but you, Danielle," Tom hissed. He nearly snarled when he found my hand could not be moved from his shoulder. "And how could I forgive that woman," he continued, "when she foolishly pawned something for so little that had more worth than her very life?" He sneered. "And with this worthless life, she did pay for her misdeeds, just as she deserved to do."

"What object did she pawn?" I pressed. "Was it just before she gave birth to you?"

The corners of his lips twitched, in anger or maddened amusement, I could not discern.

"Very good, Danielle," he said softly, though it was as if my name were being uttered upon a foreign tongue. He looked at me for a long moment, and this time, he wore a smirk. "You still wear it, I see."

It was then that I realized he had reverted to Parseltongue. I nodded, unconsciously touching the locket through layers of cloth.

"What irony," he mused, yet I could tell that he found no irony in it at all. "For it was a locket that my mother so carelessly tossed away. A priceless heirloom, forged by Salazar Slytherin. But she knew nothing of this; she was far too mindless to comprehend what it was and what her actions would be and mean."

"And yet you have found it. Did you not visit the moment it left her hands? Did you watch her die, Tom?"

He paused. "I deny nothing."

I nodded, grimly satisfied, although I knew this was not the only tie he had traveled to. If this had not been so, he would not have required the Time-Turner for which he had asked and gained.

"You must wonder why it was that I desired this Time-Turner," he remarked, turning the tiny device within his hand. He laughed, pleased by the expression upon y face, an expression which resided there only because my own thoughts had been echoed aloud.

"It was due to a task given to me by Mr. Burke that I first approached you, in regards to the Time-Turner. I was told to acquire a cup which had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Yet the man did not know for certain in whose possession it was. In truth, he still does not know… I have only just gained this knowledge myself, and may confirm his thoughts. But even this is more than I had hoped. For you see, Danielle, both cup and locket were last seen in the home of a single person, that of a witless and vain woman. And Burke knows nothing of Slytherin's locket."

"And so you mean to steal them from her."

"Oh no, I do not stoop to theft," he chuckled, not remembering that I had done that very thing for his sake not long before. "She will simply give them to me."

"What if she does not?"

"Everything has a price placed upon it."

I understood, then, that this was a challenge to him, a twisted game. Merely stealing would not suffice. He would win her heart in a different way than he had mine, whispering into her ear until she could not distinguish her own will from his. The end result would be the same no matter the path he chose to reach it: the cup and locket would be his. But only through this method would he be satisfied, for in this way, he would win the game. I only hoped that he would not be forced to cheat to do so.


	40. Riddles in the Dark

**Author's Notes:** It's difficult to face, but eventually the end had to come, and now it is here. I would like to dedicate this final chapter to everyone who has ever reviewed and supported me along the way. It's meant the world to me. I hope you enjoy the conclusion of _Riddles in the Dark—Tom and I_, and that your questions, whatever they may be, are answered.

Much love,  
Amber

* * *

**Chapter Forty:  
Riddles in the Dark**

Just as I had hoped, any illness which still remained within me was gone by the following evening. When I rose—for though I did not realize it, I had slept as late—I felt freshened and awake, alive as I had felt only on occasion. And as such, I was prepared to enter the Department of Mysteries, my hands steady and my grasp upon things firm. Yet I was to be sorely disappointed, for it was a Saturday and night had already fallen, thus my presence was not expected—or wanted, even—near the Department until the Monday morning that would soon be upon us. Soon, but still not soon enough, for I, having rested for such a great length of time, was undeniably restless.

As I swept about the room, I tugged at the corners of the blankets that had come to rest in disarray atop my bed, straightening them as best as I cared to do. There was no need for perfection when I was merely going to return to it that night. Whilst I did this, my mind wandered to Tom, as it often happened to do. The flat was once more quiet, signaling to me that I was alone. And so I wondered, not for the first time, where he was. Had he located the woman and her treasures that had once belonged to the Hogwarts founders? Or had Mr. Burke sent him away on another mysterious errand? Perhaps the two were still entwined.

I passed through the hall and into the kitchen; with a sweep of my wand, I removed the shards of the broken glass which still lay scattered upon the floor before I stepped foot inside. Out of habit, I cast a glance around the room: the habit of searching for Tom when he was not there. I did not expect to find him, of course, yet neither did I expect to find what I discovered upon the countertop very near to me.

It was a box, and it was neither small nor large in size, forged of silver that was slightly tarnished, though somehow, this imperfection did not seem to be from age. Only a silent moment passed before I realized that it had been made to match something which I already owned. I felt for the delicate chain around my neck so that I could compare the appearance of the locket to that of the box. Yet to my horror, it was no longer there.

However, I should not have worried. I lifted the lid, for I knew that was what Tom wished me to do, and gazed inside. The swoop of panic in my stomach did not entirely subside when I found the locket, nestled within, its chain wrapped around the ring of a silver skeleton key. It too seemed to match the locket, as though everything had been made in once moment and not three. But this could not be so, I noted, for if I examined them closely, all encircled within each other, I could perceive slight nuances amongst them. Perhaps these were all that lingered of the shadows of what the objects had once been.

I reached to pluck the locket from the confines of the box in order to wear it as I always had. The second it had been lifted into my hand, a low tune began to play somewhere deep inside of it, as though leaking from its core. I felt that I could not move far, and so I merely closed my eyes and raised my chin to an imaginary sky. The song was melancholy but beautiful, perhaps not even a true song, yet still one I knew. There were no words to it, but if there had been, I felt that I would have them memorized. For this song was my heart, the story of Tom and I, in some inexplicable way.

Yet suddenly, I heard a soft click and the music died into silence. I was able to move as though I was being released from a spell, slowly, for like water, the tune could only be drained from my mind. Still, I was able to continue on from what I had last been doing: disentangling the locket's chain from the key. And this did not prove a simple task; the more I worked to free the metals from one another, the more it appeared to become knotted—even though I was barely turning the chain.

Until a moment which occurred several minutes after I had begun to do this, my fingers had not come in contact with the key. The chain was incessantly twisting upon itself as though of its own accord. I did not realize this, the fact that the key was not against my flesh, and neither did I care to think of such a trifling matter. It was only when I grasped the length of metal and felt a shiver course through the entirety of my being that I realized this key was not what I had thought it to be.

I marveled at this, feeling somewhat foolish. I still had not learned to be wary of the fact that anything could occur, most especially now that I was married to Tom. For this key was anything but a normal key, at least for the time-being.

It was a Portkey, I mused as I felt a sharp tug at some point around my stomach. As it lifted me into the air, and then into something that was not quite the sky, I shut my eyes once more for fear that my head would resume its usual spinning.

Warmth flooded along my cheeks at first, though soon it was replaced by a biting sense of cold. And it was not merely a sense for long, for nigh instantly did it become a true chill. I squeezed my eyes closed as tightly as I could and brought up my hands to cover them as well; I could not distinguish whether I was merely in a wintry place or somewhere very high. Swallowing, I hoped dearly that it was not the latter case, for if it was, I was at a height I had never reached before, not even while riding Tom's _Tinderblast_.

Then, just as suddenly as all of this occurred, my travel ceased, and I hung suspended in the cold. My feet I could feel dangling beneath me, yet I was strangely serene. A voice seemed to fill my head, compelling me to uncover my eyes and gaze at whatever was before or below me. And so I did, calmly following the voice's commands, first dropping one hand to my side and then the other. My lashes ceased to act as veils and I saw the world around me as it was.

And it was as I feared, for above me was only an expanse of navy-black, as there was to my left and right and every direction that was not downward. For kilometers below me, it seemed, was a vast stretch of darkened landscape covered in hills, a small town—though I could not truly judge its size—alight and nestled in the very center cavity. Only one house, minute to me but larger than the others, sat perched atop a hill close to the town. Despite my location, I was not afraid, for the voice still calmed me.

When I had regarded this for several moments, I was suddenly seized around the middle by an invisible hand and hurled toward the town. I could not find a voice within me to scream, though I knew well that the Portkey's normal course of action was being taken.

I landed at the base of the front walk which led to the lone house upon the hill I had seen from above only seconds before. Behind me, down the parched, grassy slope, lay the town, though just in front of it was a graveyard. It was then that I realized I was someplace familiar. Tom had once taken me to this graveyard, and the manor house I had glimpsed through my window in the Department of Mysteries from time to time. It was in this place encompassing me that Tom's parents had once lived, though not together, or at least that was what I assumed, for still I had not been told much of their lives. It would not be expected by others that Tom should be conscious of such things, and yet I knew that he had to be. At the time, I believed that Tom alone knew everything in the world.

I glanced at the key still inside my palm then made my way to the door. There were no hints of wizarding design, only of muggle opulence. And when inside, this theme was echoed all around me within the architecture, but not the entirety of the furnishings, for a painting shifted in its frame when I passed by. The interior of the manor was dark but not shadowed; only dark in that it hinted of wealth with what it contained. I could not put this sense into comprehendible words just then. I distinguished only that it was filled with a darkness that was not macabre and did not leave me afraid.

In quietude, I slowly wandered through the many rooms and corridors, inspecting everything that now, I realized, was mine. How had Tom come to own this dwelling when it had not been left to him by his muggle father? Or perhaps, I speculated, he had inherited it simply because he wanted to do so; this seemed to be the most fitting explanation, for if there was anything that Tom desired, he could always obtain it in the end. Even me…

This thought seemed to strike a fire within my being, and it was unexplainable, for I had never entirely approved of his methods and morals. Yet what if he had done as much to secure my hand as he had his father's house? Had he wished to have me so badly that he had manipulated all obstacles away from us to pull me into oblivion? And was I touched by this? By the flames licking at my heart, stirring emotion and burning disapproval, I knew that I was.

I walked with this feeling for moments, minutes, hours—all lengths of time felt to me the same. I reached out to touch the textured paper upon the walls and I trailed my fingers along the lines of the picture frames, enraptured by the way they looked and felt.

Eventually—or soon, I still could not tell which—I reached the living room. This room was warm but not stifling, such a heat strangely comfortable for summer. A fire, not nearly large enough to match the one I could still feel, danced mutely within the fireplace against one wall, breaking its vow of silence only when the wood below it chose to rebel. And there, sitting calmly in an armchair, was Tom. His dark hair looked a soft brown in the light as he read from a book resting in his pale hands. I watched him from the doorway, suddenly reminded of how handsome he was, how attractive… to me… how fiercely these flames burned for him. I had always loved him greatly, and I could count upon one hand the number of times I had questioned his love for me. Yet at that moment, sometime within the past hour, even, it seemed as though I had just awakened from a deep sleep without dreaming. And I had opened my eyes to a place where dreams—my dreams—were real.

He looked up then, very nearly smiling when he saw me, and closed his book, not bothering to mark the page he had just read.

"Danielle," he greeted, coming to his feet. "I welcome you to your new home."

My movements were quick. I strode to him, briskly, and it was like crossing the sea in a matter of seconds. I did not allow him to release an exclamation of surprise, for I captured it with my lips as I kissed him. Needing, wanting. Forceful as I had been the day I had confessed my heart to him and did, in turn, agree to become his bride. I could feel his hands in my hair as we both began to lose ourselves. We stumbled somewhere, anywhere, and behind us, the door closed from its own instinct.

-

"The next morning, he was gone," I whisper. I cannot bear to say this any louder than I just have. When I glance up at Albus, I am startled to find that he is blurred; I do not know when I began to weep. I am lost in my memories as I so often have been before, but this time it is different. The memory causes my heart to feel so heavy, so full as I remember Tom's touch against mine. The way, like footprints in the sand, his kisses left imprints upon my skin, seeping deeper so that even know, the tide of the world cannot wash them away.

"In his place," I struggle to continue, "was an article clipped from the _Daily Prophet_, announcing that a woman, Hepzibah Smith, had been found dead. Gone was her killer, it said, as well as Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

I remember waking with a small smile still upon my lips, hoping to find Tom still beside me and not knowing that I would never do so again. There was no true note, merely the hastily torn article, resting upon his pillow, the bed neatly made on the corresponding side. I have been empty thereafter.

For once, Albus has no wise words to bestow upon me. The only sounds are that of my quiet sniffs as I do not attempt to wipe my tears away. Yet these are nothing, but murmurs to the piercing wails that echoed throughout the Riddle house when I realized that Tom was truly gone, or the cried I emitted when I was forced to give the final remnants of my heart away.

When at last Albus speaks, his voice is calm, though there is emotion tainting the blue of his eyes. It is not pity, but my own eyes are too oblivious to the present to know precisely what lies there.

"Your son is still safe, I trust?"

Images of my son flood into my mind. He was the last piece, the missing piece, of the puzzle I had always longed to put together. Yet the other piece was lost before this one was found, and soon it, too, had gone away from me. I have not seen my son in night as many years as he has lived, though in those years which he was there to hold, he had already grown into the mirror-image of his father.

"Tom has yet to find him," I reply. _And so have I._

It was Albus who found a family suitable enough for him to meld into, but it was I who allowed them to hide him away. I feared for his safety, and for what would come to pass if Tom knew that I had borne his child. This is something that I will always regret; it is the single action amongst many others that I would change if presented the chance. For neither he nor I were ever in any danger, even if I have realized this far too belatedly. Amadeus Salazar Riddle, now Ketteridge, is no longer mine. He did not receive my love as he should have, only my owl, Rowan.

Now that there is nothing more for me to tell, the hollowness inside of me returns, stronger than ever before. I have experienced the climax of my life twice, and twice has it been lost to me in the end. I want for nothing more than to return home; my surroundings suddenly feel foreign.

Albus, ever omniscient, senses this. "I must thank you again before you leave, as I can see you are restless to do so."

I stand, slowly, my tears gone. Albus helps me to my feet and I wonder how it is that he can be so strong when he is nearly thrice my age. I nod at him, beyond words.

"Good luck, Danielle," he tells me, using my first name for the first time since my wedding. With another nod, I retreat to the Ministry's Atrium, from which I Apparate.

It is dark this eve and the air is cool when I feel myself materialize upon the ground. I do not know the hour and can scarcely remember the season. I only know that it is past dusk. I will walk the remainder of the way home, I decide. I want to experience the earth, perhaps for the very last time.

The cemetery gate is closed when I approach it, yet I do no not mind, for I do not truly desire to walk amongst the graves. From whence I stand, I can almost catch a glimpse of the headstones of Tom's parents, those of his family… I feel myself straining to see them, brushing wisps of white and grey hair from my face. I wonder if I will ever meet them, the elder Tom and Merope…

I can feel the grass and soil beneath my feet as he calls my name, softly at first, as though I have imagined it. It is not the voice that I recognize, really, yet neither is the tone completely familiar. Still, I know that it is him. I am past surprises.

"Hello, Tom," I say as I turn, my own voice surprisingly strong.

He has changed so much since the last time I have seen him outside of memories and faded photographs. So much so that if the circumstances surrounding him had been different, I would not have recognized him at all. Even so, it is not in his appearance that I find familiarity; instead, it is deeper. He still stands in the same regal way that he once did, clothed in robes so black that it is difficult to distinguish them from the omnipresent shadows. His face is white, as literally as it can be, and his eyes and nose, once attractive to me, are slits in this pale canvas, red staining his gaze.

We stand neither close together nor far apart, unmoving but for the wind that dances with our garb.

"You have told Dumbledore," he says without questioning or accusing me of this.

"Yes." My imagination begins to control my mind, and we seem to melt away into our former selves. I am Danielle and he is Tom Riddle, not Voldemort, not the people we have become.

"You once promised me that he would not pry if he knew our secret." He nearly chuckles, but the sound is different from what I am—or was—accustomed to.

_We are both hollow now_, I think, then say aloud, "He did not pry. And only time could tell if my promise would be kept. It was time, Tom, for me to tell someone of the life I—_we_—once had."

Tom does not respond to this, merely looks thoughtful for a moment. Then, "I have seen Amadeus," he tells me, and my body shudders as I gasp.

"How long have you known of him?" I demand.

"A sufficient amount of time to know that he is truly my son." He laughs, mirthless, at the look of horror now etched across my face. "He is the flesh and blood of us both," he amends. "I will not harm him, if that is what you fear."

"Thank you."

We are closer now, though only just, ensnared in this moment like moths trapped inside a jar. Vulnerability surrounds us both: the heartless shell and the heartless killer. His eyes not leaving mine, he gently grasps my hand and brings it to his lips: a snake's kiss upon a stone for his final, parting gift. And then he lets it fall, as if everything that has happened between us will tumble away with it.

I glance over my shoulder at him only once before I set my gaze upon the manor above me, steady and determined. This is how it ends for Tom and I as we travel our separate paths: Riddles in the dark forevermore.

_The End_


End file.
